


Doing it by the Book

by amoosebouche



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bizarre love triangles, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Just Roll With It, M/M, Misunderstandings, Multi, Oral Sex, Pining, Ridiculous Premise, Romantic Castiel, Secret Crush, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, StarCraft - Freeform, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Switching, The Author Regrets Nothing, Threesome - F/M/M, because why not, castiel writes romance, dean is a nerd in a fraternity, deancastropefest, grey-romantic dean, not entirely safe sex, porn in the first half and feels in the second, takes place in the 90s, the author has been informed they are a terrible person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-12-23 17:51:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11994909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoosebouche/pseuds/amoosebouche
Summary: Cas is absolutely convinced that writing steamy love scenes does not require actual experience in the bedroom. So when his secret crush (and muse) finds his writing notebook and calls his smutty scenes boring, defensive virgin and quiet bookworm Cas completely loses his cool and challenges the guy to be his sex tutor. Even worse, Dean accepts. Now the question is: can Cas experience steamy love scenes without losing his heart?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [ **Art Masterpost** ](http://peanutbutterthenjelly.tumblr.com/post/164969101482/for-deancas-tropefest-2017-by-the-book)
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> So, hey, here it is! My first tropefest fic! It's tempting to say this was a super easy experience, but, um, even an extremely well-run challenge (with great mods!) cannot compensate for (dun dun dunnn) **THE FIC FROM HELL**.
> 
> No, seriously. For some reason this story was SO DIFFICULT to do. (I'm guessing it has something to do with the fact it's the pure romance plot. I'm realizing I might want to stick to adventure for longer fic, lmaooo.) I started working on it about a year and a half ago, and, well, if it wasn't for the deadline, I'd probably be working on it forever. Sometimes you just gotta let 'em go, though, y'know? 
> 
> Okay enough blathering.
> 
> Standard disclaimer: The views expressed by some characters do not necessarily reflect those of the author (that's code for "the boys are dicks, sometimes"). This is fiction, and some things regarding truly safe sex are glossed over, there's some sex things after a few drinks have been had (I personally do not believe it's enough drinking to interfere with consent, but ymmv, so please be forewarned!), dean's grey-romanticism is never actually labeled & purposefully left very hazy because I suck at explaining this stuff even though I'm grey-r myself, and yes, there is a meg/dean/cas threesome. Finally, although it's been beta'd with love and skill, there's probably still a metric crapload of problems with this fic because I keep changing shit?? 
> 
> Big thanks to peanutbutterthenjelly for picking my story and creating lovely art for it :)  
> And thank you, Dimps, for brainstorming and beta'ing. As always, your input is invaluable <3

_Spring, 1999._

_A small liberal arts college somewhere in the Midwest._

 

Castiel had been crafting stories almost since he learned to read. His uncle had been a writer. His mother was a writer. It was in his blood; it was his calling. He was fairly good at it, although right about now it would be difficult to believe it. Castiel was a writer, but writing was hard. 

Not college writing, though: he was near the end of his second year so naturally he’d already devised a method for academic success. Professor Marv was Published and loved to hear himself talk, so mentioning one or two of his books would nearly guarantee a passing grade. Professor Roman was a shark: everyone knew to never show weakness to him or he’d send you home in tears, but that meant anything sharp and aggressive would win points. Professor Crowley was always looking to get ahead, so never hand in anything _too_ good, or it would end up in an academic journal with Crowley’s name on it, or so the rumor went.

It was a lot to remember, but despite the necessity of navigating the quirks of the teaching faculty, nothing Castiel had to deal with at this school had been anywhere near as difficult as writing his first novel. Of all the impossible, insurmountable tasks he’d come up against, this one was by far the absolute worst.

Castiel frowned. He crossed out a word, stopped to think about it, then crossed out the rest of the sentence. He scanned the remainder of the paragraph quickly. When he got to the end he sighed and crossed out the entire thing with a little too much force and the paper tore and balled up under his pen.

Something crinkly and sharp bounced off of Castiel’s face. The fuzzy, half-formed scene in his head, the one he’d been trying to turn into words before it disappeared entirely, snapped away to reveal the much less pleasing image of his cousin’s grinning face.

“Gabriel, will you _stop_? I’m trying to write.” Cas propped up a folder in an attempt to block any more balled-up candy wrappers being thrown his way. The folder had the added benefit of blocking Gabe from sight, but it couldn’t keep him from talking.

“C’mon Cassie, I’m done studying. It’s nice out. Can’t you just work on your smutty story later?”

Cas dropped the folder and glared across the table, his resolution to ignore his cousin forgotten in record time. Gabe was a year older than him and still acted like a five-year-old; it was enough to try the patience of a saint. “I have a deadline! And it’s not _smut._ ”

Gabe cocked an eyebrow and directed a pointed glance at Cas’s notebook. “Is too, judging by that steamy sex scene you keep crossing out and rewriting.”

“It’s _romance_. It’s a very distinctive genre.” Still, Cas slid the notebook under another book.

Gabriel didn’t notice, though; his attention had gone to a point somewhere over Cas’s shoulder, and Cas turned to follow.

It was easy to see what had grabbed Gabe’s attention. A group of guys made their way through the maze of tables. They laughed and jostled each other and held textbooks and notebooks loosely in hand, and it was easy to peg them as frat boys.The guy in front was a big bear of a man with a backwards ball cap who looked vaguely familiar, but whom Cas couldn’t quite place.

It threw him just enough that it took a few moments to realize they were headed straight towards him.

Castiel looked around and realized all the other large tables were fairly full while his had only himself and Gabe seated at it. It was one of his favorite spots, isolated at the fringe of the study area in a location that looked out onto a small garden courtyard at the back of the library. He sighed. The peacefulness he enjoyed was—well, no. There was never really any peace while Gabe was around. The _relative solitude_ was shattered by the newcomers. 

“Hey there, brother. Mind if we share the table with you?” The big guy had his hand on the back of the chair two down and waited, unhurried, for a reply. He had an accent that Cas couldn’t quite name, the soft drawl both soothing and grating, and also annoying familiar, though he still couldn’t place him.

While Cas was debating what to say, the man’s gaze shifted down to the book he’d used to hide his notebook. “ _Nineteenth Century Lit_ , huh? Took that class last semester. Marv still teaching it?” 

At the words Cas groaned internally. He had the book because of a poem that served as inspiration; he had taken that same class last semester, and that’s why he recognized the guy, although apparently he himself was far less memorable. His memories of the class surfaced; this guy had been part of the clique of frat boys staked out in the back of the room. Cas had really only noticed them because of one member of that group. He glanced around surreptitiously, but _that_ person wasn’t here today. It was really just as well. The last thing he needed was to be even more flustered than he already was.

“We were just leaving, actually,” Cas said. He managed to keep an even voice, but he knew his face was red as he grabbed up his stuff and shoved it into his bag. There was no way he’d be able to write anything approaching a decent sex scene while sitting next to these guys. There was no way he’d be able to write _anything_ near them. They were loud. Not only loud in volume, but loud in presence. Castiel felt invaded, and the urge to get away was too much to ignore.

“I’m sorry, fellas, didn’t mean to chase you out like that,” Mr. Ballcap said as Cas slid his chair in. 

“No, really, it’s fine. Gabe wanted to get going anyway.” Cas caught Gabe’s eye and jerked his head toward the library entrance.

“I did?” Gabe replied. 

“Yes, you did, it’s dinner time, come _on_ ,” Cas said, and forcibly steered Gabe away from the table. 

“But Cassie...!” Gabe pouted, and dragged his feet as Cas stormed ahead.

“Give it up, Gabe. I know you’re just messing with me.” Cas sighed and slid a hand up under his glasses to rub his eyes—

“Oof!”

—and he plowed right into a body. A very solid body. Interest pricked at him and he shivered. A hand steadied him; the heat and strength of the grip on his arm prompted some naughty thoughts that he shoved aside ruthlessly; he tended to get too far in the moment when he’d been going over certain types of scenes. 

“I’m sorry…” Cas looked up at the person he’d run into and his apology died in his throat. Now he was trapped, staring into the very pretty green eyes that belonged to the very, _very_ pretty man who may or may not have been the inspiration for the scene he’d been writing, and who may or may not have been the person who’d caught his eye in that class last semester: Dean Winchester.

Cas forcibly wrenched his gaze away from the man’s eyes, which seemed to sparkle with amusement, but then he was staring at his lips, and that was just as good—no, _bad_. It was just as _bad_. So Cas ripped his gaze away from that view and settled on neutral ground: a nicely shaped (only slightly crooked) and lightly freckled nose. 

“Hey, woah! I don’t normally get this friendly ‘til the second date!” The guy cocked an eyebrow and smirked suggestively. 

Cas stared at him in dawning horror as he realized his feelings must be broadcast on his face—and then realized they were still pressed together, with Cas’s arm smashed between them and resting tantalizingly close to the man’s waistband. They were certainly close enough that if Cas didn’t move soon, the guy would feel something other than Cas’s arm between them… Cas stumbled back a few steps, veered around the attractive obstacle, then practically ran toward the library exit. Once he thought he was at a safe distance, he looked back just in time to see Dean pull out a chair at his former table. He looked back at Cas, a puzzled expression on his stupidly pretty face.

Outside, Gabriel gave up trying to hold it in and burst into laughter so loud and raucous other students turned to stare at them.

“Is it possible to die from acute embarrassment?” Cas said as he stalked off.

Gabe broke into a jog and fell back in step next to Cas, matching his furious pace even though he was a few inches shorter.

“Relax, Cassie. It’s not everyday you literally run smack into the hottest guy on campus _and_ he flirts with you!” Gabe wheezed, but whether it was from running to catch up or because he still hadn’t stopped laughing, Cas didn’t know. Either way, irritation still bubbled under his skin.

“That was not flirting, Gabriel, that was mockery.”

“I think he was into you!” Gabe said. Of course he was unwilling to let it drop. “You do know who that was, don’t you? I can almost forgive you for not knowing or caring who the rest of those guys were, but—”

“Oh my God, shut up. I’m not a hermit, I know who Dean Winchester is. Anna and Meg talk about him constantly.” _And I fantasize about him constantly, and all of my heroes’ love interests somehow look just like him..._ The realization that he was basically the gay romance version of Joanna Lindsey and her Fabio infatuation was a bit depressing, and his next words came out bitter. “They make him out to be some perfect example of manhood. It's actually rather nauseating.”

“Hmm. They only gush over him like that because he’s so unattainable. But, still, what a specimen. Did you see his arms? And his face, and his chest, his cute little tush, and, well, anyway… _That_ was a missed opportunity. You should have flirted back, at least. You need to inject some reality into your smut.”

“What?” Cas came to a halt, hoping he’d misheard.

“You know, gain some, ah, ‘life experience’ to improve your writing. But also, you’re lonely—don’t even try to deny it—and you clearly have an interest in the guy. You should go for it.”

Castiel huffed. Gabe’s idea of _life experience_ and _going for it_ was probably a one-night stand in the back of a car. Not exactly Cas’s kind of scene, and (hopefully) not Dean’s, either. 

“Yes, I’m sure a random stranger running into him and groping him is exactly the kind of thing that gets him hot and bothered.”

“Still, something to consider. Now, are we done charging across campus? I’d like to enjoy the weather.” Gabriel rummaged around in his backpack and emerged with a sucker, which he popped into his mouth with enthusiasm, a signal that the conversation was over.

They walked in blessed silence after that. It _was_ a beautiful day, and Cas’s mood improved dramatically as they ambled across a campus awash with blossoming trees and a sea of tiny little crocuses poking their heads up. A pair of squirrels chased each other across the quad and disappeared up a tree, scampering around it like a corkscrew. Here and there, couples walked hand in hand, and there was even a pair of girls making out on a blanket spread out in the grass. He realized Gabe had valid arguments on both points: he _was_ lonely, and he was also _completely_ blocked when it came to sex scenes. He didn’t want to admit it might be thanks to his utter lack of experience; he’d written about quite a few things he had no firsthand experience in, so why would sex be any different? Yet here he was, so it was worth considering Gabe’s idea. Cas would never proposition Dean, obviously, but if he had an actual idea of how it was to be with someone, maybe he could finally get over this hump. 

 

Gabe wandered off on his own after they left the dining hall. Cas didn’t know exactly what his cousin got up to on Friday nights, but was reasonably certain he wanted nothing to do with whatever it was. Instead, he planned to spend an hour or two writing, get Balthazar to read his chapter, then perhaps have Anna over to watch movies.

Yes, he did just resolve to do something about his lack of experience, and no, he was not ready to set that plan into action just yet. One needed to actually _have_ a plan in order to put it in motion; so far the only thing Castiel had figured out was that he’d have to go out and meet people, both things he was _not_ fond of.

So having a quiet night in was just fine with him. He set his messenger bag down on his desk and began to unpack it.

And paused. 

Something wasn’t right.

He pawed through the contents two, then three times—increasingly frantic—before he finally acknowledged that his writing notebook was gone. The vague sinking sensation in his stomach exploded into full-blown lung-squeezing panic when he recalled that the last place he’d had it was in the library right before he ran into Dean. 

He had been in such a hurry to escape the frat boys—did he leave it on the table? Or did it fall out of his bag when he ran out of the library? If he left it at the table—Dean had sat in Cas’s seat. If Dean found the notebook, Cas’s life was as good as over.

Castiel tried to slow his breathing and consider his options. Maybe it would never be connected to him. He could just forget all about it, abandon that story and start another. He still had a few weeks until the contest deadline… But no, that wouldn’t work. Despite the problems he’d been having with it, this story was essentially in the editing stage. He’d never have enough time to write _and_ revise a new story from scratch.

There was an even bigger issue to consider: even though the names were different, the romantic interest for the main character was _so obviously_ physically based off of Dean and the main character _so obviously_ Castiel that— No, he had to go back. He had to hope that the notebook had fallen under the table, that it had gone unnoticed. 

Cas made record time as he dashed back across campus. Inside the library it was quiet and sparsely populated, not unusual in the hour before closing on a Friday evening. A lone staff member tidied up at the circulation desk, and reminded him of closing time as he strode past. He quickly walked over to the table he’d been at earlier, but was brought up short by the sight of someone sitting there with books spread out before him. The person heard Castiel’s approach and sudden halt, and turned in his seat. Cas’s heart fluttered. Of course it was Dean; the way today had gone it couldn’t have possibly been anyone else. Even better, Dean recognized him.

“Oh, hey again,” Dean said with a smile bordering on friendly. Cas would have been happy to stare at Dean some more, but his attention was drawn to the notebook at Dean’s elbow. _His_ notebook, he was certain of it. _Please please please don’t let him have looked in it,_ he thought as he licked his lips involuntarily. Dean’s eyes darted down to the notebook, then met Cas’s again. He smiled more genuinely, eyes crinkling up at the corners. It was breathtaking. _Dean_ was breathtaking. Cas wanted to lose himself in that smile, but he realized Dean was speaking to him.

“ —I said, is this yours? Says ‘Cas Novak’ here.” Dean pointed to the name written in neat print on the inside cover.

Cas forced out a weak laugh, but words were a lost cause.

“I kinda flipped through it, sorry. I was just looking for contact info, not that I was, uh... you know. Trying to snoop.” Dean cleared his throat, and his eyebrow tipped up. “This guy’s name is a lot like mine, though, I notice.”

Cas darted up to the table. He swiped the notebook from Dean’s hand and, red-faced, grasped it close to his chest. Dean looked stunned and maybe a bit annoyed, but Cas didn’t have the luxury of deciphering his crush’s facial expressions at the moment. He needed to get the hell out of here. Just getting out of the library wouldn’t be far enough. Maybe he could join a hermitage—whatever it took to never think about much less look at Dean Winchester ever again. 

Dean’s expression hardened. “Some of it’s hot I guess, but, I dunno, it’s kinda _off_ , don’tcha think?”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“All the, uh… You know.” Dean made a borderline obscene gesture. “It’s pretty unrealistic, man, especially if the guy is modeled after me.” 

Although Dean spoke calmly, the words stung. “I’ll have you know I’m published!” _In the school literary journal, and a short story in my mother’s magazine…_

Dean shrugged and turned back to his work. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste.”

Cas went a little hazy with rage at that point, even as some part of him wondered if maybe his lack of experience showed on the page.

“Well, what would you suggest, then, Mr. Know-it-All?”

“Mmhhmm,” Dean hummed. “How would I know? I’m not the writer. But it’s like you’re just making shit up.” 

“ _Making shit up_? Like what, exactly?” Cas said. “You know so much, show me!”

Dean turned back to face him. He had a strange glimmer in his eyes that made Cas want to run out of there and never look back, but Dean just quirked a small smile and nodded before Cas could even unglue his feet from the floor.

“Alright, fine. C’mere,” Dean said. Cas walked the few feet up to Dean, which was definitely _not_ what he was telling his body to do. Dean’s arm shot out and his hand closed around the notebook and he easily pulled it out from Cas’s grasp. He paged through it quickly and stopped at a point near the beginning. His finger jabbed at a line and Cas leaned closer to see which one it was. 

“This, for one. It sucks,” Dean said rather harshly. “The kissing. It’s way too flat and boring. I’d never kiss like that.”

“It’s not boring! It’s _tender_.”

Dean snorted. “Tender, my ass. This is like… like getting a goodnight kiss from your Mom or something. Or Luke and Leia making out. Not sexy at all.”

Cas bit back the retort that he’d never had a goodnight kiss from either of his mothers—he sensed it wouldn’t be quite the winning blow. “It’s not supposed to be sexy yet,” he protested instead.

Dean started reading, his finger tracing along and smudging the pencil. “ _Cal felt at peace when Dan’s lips touched his. Dan’s hand cradled his jaw gently, and the sweet touch was like coming home. ‘Let’s make sweet love,’ Dan whispered in his ear. ‘I want you.’_ ” Dean gave him a flat look. _“_ Sounds like they’re gonna bone to me, man. And boning is supposed to be sexy. ‘Least, it is when _I_ do it.”

It might have been a while since Cas had kissed anyone, but he definitely had, and it hadn’t been _that_ long. “They’re falling in love, you ass.”

“Pft. Making out should feel… I don’t know, I’m not that good with flowery words. Not peaceful, though, jeez. They gotta be all over each other first, and then all sappy and stuff at the end or something. Or, you know, not sappy _ever_ , but you seem fixated on that, so…” 

“It’s not sappy. It’s a _romance_. They’re supposed to have feelings for each other.”

“I thought romances were supposed to be sexy,” Dean said. His gaze traveled up and down Cas, taking in his plain jeans and the old t-shirt from Gabe’s high school band. Cas felt himself turn red under the scrutiny as Dean continued, “And I’m convinced you don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

“And you do?” But it was pure spite that caused him to say that. Dean sat twisted around in his chair facing Cas, and his black tee stretched across his shoulders and chest in a way that made Cas want to reach out and touch him, to skim his hands along the arm that was just a few inches away… 

“Gabe was right, I need to get laid,” Cas muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Dean asked.

“I said, I don’t, um… have much inspiration for this story. And… that’s why this draft might be a little—a _little_ —bland. I just need... ” Cas trailed off and shrugged. 

Dean watched him, and Cas started to squirm under the appraising look.

“What the hell,” Dean finally said, and grabbed Castiel’s wrist. He yanked him impossibly close. Cas stumbled with the motion and fell sideways into Dean’s lap.

“The lengths I go to for the sake of porn… ” 

“No, it’s not—” Cas gasped as Dean slid his hand through the short hair at the back of Cas’s head, up up up to the longer strands at the crown; he gripped tight and pulled gently, and when Cas arched to follow the motion, Dean nuzzled at his exposed neck with soft lips. His skin tingled in Dean’s wake, and he felt... Cas struggled to define what he was feeling. Like bees buzzed through his veins trying to escape the confines of flesh. He gasped again before recalling they were in the library, and moved away from Dean’s sinful mouth.

“This is a terrible idea,” Cas managed to say. His voice shook, and he swallowed to try and get the lump out of his throat.

“What, making out in the library?” Dean asked. “Or being proven wrong?”

They were so close Cas could feel the vibration from Dean’s voice. He nearly melted as Dean mouthed his way over Cas’s stubbled jaw and finally, _finally_ found his lips. Cas groaned softly and eagerly met Dean’s mouth. It’d been a long time since he kissed someone, and he was positive it wasn’t even half as amazing as this, hence his _boring_ fictional kisses. He caught his teeth on Dean’s bottom lip, and Dean moaned into his mouth. Cas felt it down to his toes. Dean’s hands cradled Cas’s head gently, but his mouth devoured and demanded. It was consuming him.

Castiel couldn’t tell if seconds had passed or minutes, but he became aware of the overhead lights dimming. He tore himself free from Dean and was suddenly and horribly reminded that the library was closing soon, and he needed to send over his draft chapter to Balthazar. _And he’d let Dean goad him into losing control_. Cas crashed back down to earth. He blushed and stammered as he scrambled off of Dean’s lap, almost falling in his haste.

“I need to go. I have a deadline, and—” He looked around, and retrieved his notebook from where it had fallen when Dean had manhandled him into that kiss. “I have a deadline.”

Dean chuckled. “You’re adorable. But you got some inspiration at least, yeah?”

“Ye-e-s,” Cas said. He regarded Dean carefully; the other man’s face was slightly flushed and his lips swollen, but he didn’t look nearly as affected as Cas felt. “Thank you, though.”

“Uh, you’re welcome? It was just a kissing lesson, dude.”

“No, not that.” _Yes, that_. Cas held up his notebook. “Thank you for not showing your friends.”

“Oh. Why the hell would I? Only looked in it in the first place to try and find a name.” Dean stood and straightened Cas’s glasses, then brushed Cas’s hair back into place. “There; don’t want everyone to know you were getting ravished in the library.”

_I don’t mind if everyone knows._ The words almost tumbled from Cas’s mouth, but he bit them back at the last second. He _did_ mind. He minded very much, in fact; he supposed he should be grateful Dean cared about appearances, if Cas couldn’t keep his head on straight. He stumbled around a hurried and somewhat embarrassed goodbye to Dean, and ducked out the library as quickly as he could.

 

“Maybe you should take out the part about the bees,” Balthazar said, one finger resting on the printed page propped up in his lap. He gave Cas a worried look.

“But that’s exactly how it felt,” Cas protested. He’d quite liked that line.

Balthazar’s brows jumped up high on his forehead. “Yes, well, I’m not sure anyone wants to think about stinging insects while reading a steamy scene, so, maybe consider removing it?”

Cas grunted. “Anything _else_ you’d like to butcher?”

“No, I think that’s it for this chapter. This actually has a bit more to it than previous ones.”

Pleasure at the unexpected compliment warred with doubt. “Balthazar, please, be honest. Was my writing really that bad before?”

“Oh, Cassie. I’d never let you get away with anything truly terrible. Maybe certain scenes, certain characters, were a little bit idealized, but what’s the romance genre for if not fetishizing unrealistic notions of sex and love?”

_Unrealistic_ pinged uncomfortably in his mind, but Balth couldn’t possibly have known that was how Dean felt about his sex scenes as well. “Thank you… I think.”

“Any time, darling.”

There followed several minutes of companionable silence as his friend read through the draft one final time. Balthazar made a few more quick scribbles and then handed the pages back to Cas.

“Are you going to spill about the mystery man or woman, or are you going to make me suffer my curiosity in silence?”

Cas startled; he hadn’t realized that Balth would pick that up. He quickly schooled himself—or tried to; his lips quirked into a smile that wouldn’t go away.

“You can’t lie to me, Cassie,” Balthazar said. “Not with that ridiculous look on your face. You met someone and you _like_ them.” 

Balth drew out the ‘i’ in like to an obnoxious extent and Cas tried to look stern, he really did. He just happened to fail miserably at it.

“Yes, fine, you’re right. Against my better judgment, I’ll have you know. But I can’t tell you much about it. I’m not sure he wants it known,” Cas said. He methodically packed away the pages, taking the time to think. His friend’s patient silence spurred him to confess in a rush. “I may have done something rash. I—um. I may have accidentally propositioned someone in the name of research.”

Balthazar looked stunned, as if he were unsure whether it was a big joke. He blinked, but when Cas didn’t react, he broke out into a smile.

“I admit, I’m stunned. Well, rash or not, if the result is sexy writing and that grin you’re wearing, I’d say it was a resounding success.”

“You really think so?” A not insignificant part of Castiel was gratified; another, more significant portion, was annoyed that Dean had quickly had such a great effect on him.

“Absolutely. You get too inward sometimes, Cassie. I think this’ll be good for you. Or if nothing else, it’ll be interesting. Is he willing to help you with more ‘research’?”

A very good question. He’d run away from Dean before anything much could be said; at the time, he’d been too flustered and annoyed with himself to _want_ there to be a next time. He certainly had no idea if Dean wanted a next time.

“It didn’t really come up,” he hedged. “Well, I’m going to get going. Thanks again for looking this over.”

Balthazar winked at Cas. “Believe me, it was my pleasure. See you in class on Monday?”

Cas rolled his eyes, and they finished their goodbyes quickly.

He trudged back to his dorm lost in his thoughts, buried under the weight of conflicting emotions and unanswered questions. Inevitably, his mind returned to the kiss over and over again: was Dean attracted to him, or was he just having fun at Cas’s expense? Did he enjoy it as much as Cas had? Did he want to do it again?

Cas couldn’t pretend he wasn’t interested in an encore. His wandering mind kept pushing at the encounter with Dean, and, without precisely meaning to, he added some embellishments and improvements. When he got back to his room he realized there was no way he was fit for company, not with his head where it was. He wanted to relive the experience again and again and again… Anna was fobbed off with a quick phone call, then Cas undressed and crawled into bed. While he lie there, staring up into the darkness, he traced his lips gently with his fingers. It had been hours, but in his mind he was _changed_ ; his lips couldn’t still be swollen and red, but they felt different. Everything was different now, even though nothing much had happened. 

It wasn’t a conscious decision to fantasize about Dean while touching himself, but the man was stuck in his head. Castiel’s hand trailed down his neck to his torso, continuing on until he had his cock in hand. He imagined himself and Dean stealing down to the library’s little-used map room; Dean would push him up against a wall, maybe pin his arms above his head, and kiss him until Cas was mindless with desire. The fantasy morphed into the two of them stumbling into the little supply closet just off the laundry room in the basement of his residence hall, but this time Dean would drop to his knees and stretch his mouth around Cas’s cock— Before Cas realized it, his toes were curling and his back arched right off the bed as he came harder than he had in a long time.

By the time he’d come down from his highly satisfying orgasm, Castiel had come to the conclusion that Dean Winchester would likely cause him a great deal of trouble. But he couldn’t quite convince himself to care.


	2. Chapter 2

Right after Dean had kissed him, Cas had been on fire. He’d rewritten the rest of the chapter out so quickly his hand had nearly cramped up. He hoped the feeling would have lingered a bit longer, but it seemed the further away he was from the kiss, the less he was able to remember it—how he felt, what Dean had done to him—with any sort of clarity. Within a day he was back to crossing out lines and crumpling up whole pages to be chucked across his room in a pique.

Frankly, it was maddening.

He still hadn’t been able to snap out of it when Monday rolled around. By the time he had class with Balth, he was so grumpy even his professor remarked on it. He’d stood up to read a passage and Dr. Crowley had drily remarked that the way Cas told it, Sir Gawain would never have gone on that deer hunt but stayed in bed all day with the covers pulled up over his head.

He was still reeling with mortification at being singled out when Balth pulled him aside as students streamed from the room after class. Castiel glared at a girl who tossed him a sympathetic look as she swept by, and then immediately felt bad. At least she hadn’t been _laughing_ like everyone else.

“You seem out of sorts,” Balthazar said with his trademark dry tone.

“Very astute,” Castiel replied in kind. He walked toward the door, and Balthazar keep pace alongside him.

“Something happen this weekend?”

_Nothing happened, and that’s the problem_. The thought bloomed out of nowhere, and Cas held his tongue until he could talk like a sensible person. Absurd, thinking that he wanted more of what Dean had to offer. The guy was a known flirt, practically a womanizer. He probably wasn’t even into guys, not in the real sense—Cas couldn’t ever remember Anna (who’d had a week-long fling with him freshman year) mentioning Dean with a guy. And he had paid a _lot_ of attention to everything Anna had said about Dean at the time. So, he would _not_ let this stupid one-sided crush linger any longer. 

Instead, he said, “I’m just stuck again, that’s all.”

Balth nodded sagely. “Inspiration dried up quickly, hmm?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

“Your _friend_ is out of the question?” When Cas shrugged in response, Balth frowned. “I suppose you could just observe the mating dance of the average college student and use that. They’re out in force on the quad these days.”

“It’s not that part of the matingdance I’m interested in.”

“Oh,” Balthazar said. “I see. Yes, most people don’t want some random passerby observing that kind of mating. Unless… You know, I’ve heard some rumors about the kinds of parties your cousin goes to. I wonder if—”

“Ugh, no! A thousand—a _million_ times no. I’m not writing horror, you sadist.”

Balthazar chuckled. “It was worth bringing up just to see that expression on your face. Priceless. But seriously, why is your friend not an option? It seemed like that worked out pretty well the other day.”

Castiel ignored his friend’s eyebrow waggle and held a door open for a girl toting a large piece of foamcore. He was considering not answering the question at all, mostly because he hadn’t told Balth the whole story, namely, the part where he freaked out and ran away. He knew Balth would be a disappointed in him, but more than that, he was starting to realize he was a little disappointed in himself, too. It really wasn’t every day your crush kissed you. Even if it was for the wrong reasons… 

“Earth to Cassie…”

“What?”

“Someone’s trying to get your attention.” Balthazar pointed across the small courtyard to where a brunette was waving frantically at him. “Who is that?”

Cas snorted. “Trouble.”

“Introduce me?” “It’s your soul.” The two of them walked toward the woman, who was chatting with a couple of soccer players who looked like they were on their way to practice. She broke off from them with a flirty smile and a wave and trotted up to meet Cas and Balth.

“Hello, Meg,” Cas greeted her.

“Clarence, a pleasure as always.” Her voice seemed to be permanently stuck on a low, throaty resonance, and she always had a slightly threatening glimmer in her eye whenever he saw her. She stepped into his personal space and gave him a searching look, then eventually enveloped him in a loose, one-armed hug. Her smile widened as she glanced over at Balthazar. “And what’s this? Fresh meat for me?”

“Absolutely not. This is my friend Balthazar. Balth, this is Meg. We were just heading back from class…” Cas started to make their excuses.

“Charmed.” Balth sabotaged his effort by bringing out his best (in his words) accent. Cas was expecting a quick set-down but she actually _laughed_ as if she were enjoying herself and dropped her arm from around Cas’s shoulders to take Balth’s hand. And although Castiel knew what came next, he watched in disbelief as Balthazar seamlessly turned the handshake into an old-fashioned gesture. Normally this was where Meg would turn into a demon and bite some heads off. Instead, she smiled wickedly as Balthazar bowed over her hand.

“So how does a lovely lady like yourself know a grumpy lump like Castiel here?” Balthazar finally stepped back.

“Excuse me? I may be grumpy but I am not a _lump_!”

Meg chuckled and slid a sideways glance in Cas’s direction. “Do you feel like fielding this one?”

“I feel like sinking into a hole and dying.” Cas rolled his eyes, but secretly, deep inside, his emotions were warring. He wasn’t even sure why; it wasn’t exactly a sordid story. Given Meg’s personality, she’d probably met a lot of people by kissing them at parties. Still, for some reason, he felt a smidge of panic that she’d spill, and then it’d be known: Castiel had made out with a complete stranger while drunk at a party.

A completely normal college experience.

Completely. Normal.

Why was he about to freak out?

“Well, I suppose that might be a story for another time,” Meg said in response to Castiel’s silence. She was watching him carefully, a tiny little wrinkle forming between her brows. “What are your guys’ plans for lunch?”

“Like I said, find a deep hole, crawl in and die.”

“Well, unlike Cassie, I prefer not to die just yet. Could I escort m’lady to Commons?”

“Are you kidding me?” Castiel said, and huffed angrily when Meg tittered.

 

Cas had gone home after lunch, since he had an hour to kill before his last class of the day and felt like being alone to wallow. He was feeling just out of sorts enough to consider skipping class, and he waffled over the decision long enough that when he finally decided to go, he was running late. He hurried across the quad, still preoccupied.

Unbelievable. Meg and Balthazar, of all people… They’d flirted over burgers and fries like it was a courtly game, almost entirely ignoring Castiel. He knew Balth had another class this afternoon, and wasn’t sure what Meg’s schedule was since they didn’t run into each other that often. But he had the impression that they would find a way to meet up again, and that he wouldn’t want to be around when it happened. Not that those two were in danger of getting together in any long-term sense; Meg didn’t date, and Balthazar’s preferences tipped the scale toward the male side. However, there was just something inexplicably Luke-and-Leia about two of his close friends clicking like that.

Cas frowned to himself. Why was he thinking about Star Wars? He hadn’t watched it in years. 

In any case, the situation had the unfortunate and alarming effect of reinforcing the idea that he couldn’t find a date in a million years, while all his closest friends were the complete opposite. Gabe and Balth and Meg, and even Anna on occasion, were all libertines who did whatever they wanted with whoever they wanted whenever they wanted, and here he was, still an inexperienced antisocial virgin. The disconnect between he and his friends was boggling sometimes. 

There was nothing wrong with what they did, of course. It just wasn’t his scene. Given how disparate they were from him, though, he wondered what they saw in him. An evil, niggling thought wormed its way into his head: maybe he was the unwitting foil.

No, that was ridiculous. His friends were decent people, and he knew they liked him for who he was. Sometimes he just didn’t like himself for who he was.

Still, maybe he could borrow some moves from their playbooks just to get over this stumbling block he’d found himself up against. Then maybe he wouldn’t be such an outsider among all his peers, and also could finally finish this stupid story.

He suddenly saw a flash in the corner of his eye; before he could react, something hard bonked him in the head. He swore and ducked far too late; the object—a banana-yellow frisbee—careened off his forehead at a sharp angle and went straight into a bush. He gave a momentary thought to pulling it out, but the tender spot on his head said otherwise, and he glared over at the players instead.

Which was a mistake, because his blurry vision showed Dean Winchester striding toward him. Cas readjusted his glasses and saw the recognition flash in Dean’s eyes. Should he be as glad of that as he felt? Probably not, his common sense asserted. Still, his heart gave a pathetic little thump in his chest in response to the smile Dean gave him. It certainly didn’t help that Dean was wearing a fitted t-shirt that showed off his really rather nice arms, and fitted jeans that showed off his really rather nice legs, and the realization _we kissed!_ flashed through Cas’s mind. No, this had to stop now. 

“Hey!” Dean said when he was close enough he wouldn’t have to yell. “Sorry ‘bout that. Benny’s got a wild arm. We might as well be playing Calvinball.”

“Calvinball?”

“You know, from Calvin and Hobbes?”

Cas didn’t know what philosophers had to do with frisbee, so he kept silent. He found it impossible to ignore Dean, though, so he nodded and hoped it passed as an acknowledgement. 

“How’s the writing going, by the way?” Dean asked once he’d fetched the frisbee and tossed it back into play. The question was so out of left field that Cas just gaped at Dean for a few good seconds before he remembered to close his mouth. Dean seemed to really want a response, though, because he gave Cas a long, searching look.

“Uh, well… Not so well at the moment, actually. I’m kind of, um, stuck again.”

Dean nodded wisely like he knew Castiel’s pain, then cracked a smile. “Want some more pointers? I got a few minutes.”

Cas’s heart missed a beat, then went galloping into overdrive to make up for it. “Now?” he squeaked, and took a quick look around. They were in the middle of the quad, and there were dozens of people in the area.

“Yeah, why not?” Dean noticed Cas’s hesitation, and frowned minutely. “Look, I may not be a lit major or into creative writing, but, uh, I _did_ get into school here so I’m not entirely dumb. Plus, I happen to have plenty of practical experience. Just show me what you’re stuck on, maybe I can help.”

Cas dutifully dug out his notebook and paged to the latest section. He hoped Dean didn’t notice how little he’d gotten finished since the last time. He pointed out a paragraph that had been started several times to no avail. Dean took the notebook and frowned over it for a few moments, then pointed to a line near the beginning. 

“Okay, here’s what I think,” Dean said. He leaned closer, and Cas’s breath caught as he found himself leaning in toward Dean, his eyes locked on Dean’s lips in expectation.

“It’s like, really romantic here, right?” Dean said. He looked up and Cas swayed back, embarrassed to be caught thinking they would kiss. “But it’s still really early on. So maybe keep the sex lighter and more impersonal in the beginning, and then later when they suddenly realize they have feelings it might have more impact?”

Dean fell silent and read a few more paragraphs. “Man, you’re really a sucker for this, aren’t you? Well, obviously, all this romance crap isn’t my style, so this isn’t really how I’d go about getting with someone I didn’t know well, so take it with grain of salt.”

“No, that’s very helpful, Dean, thank you,” Cas said, even though his secret hopes and dreams withered and died a little with Dean’s proclamation.

 

Cas couldn’t really be blamed for having high hopes when it came to Dean offering advice, but that only made the disappointment more cutting when Dean had gone on his way without offering more kisses.

He supposed he was grateful to have an expert opinion on the sex scene he’d been trying to hone, but the rejection felt like an additional kick in the teeth after the kind of day he’d had that day. Well, fine—if he were being honest, Dean couldn’t have rejected him because Cas never asked him for anything. But that didn’t change how he felt. It still stung like a rejection.

What was worse, the advice actually helped, although that fact irritated Cas quite a bit and he’d never admit it to anyone. Despite that, he plugged away through the rest of the chapter, frustration boiling just under the surface as he penned the encounter the way Dean had suggested. Of course it was too much to ask for him to have actually experienced something that hot.

Cas repeatedly chided himself for being hung up on a boy who had flirted with him _exactly once_ ; in the intervening days since the frisbee incident, he’d spotted Dean more and more often, and Dean always spared him a friendly wave, but nothing else. 

When Cas met up with Balthazar mid-week to have his friend read through the latest additions, Balthazar commented on how well Dean’s revised scene ‘flowed’ and how he ‘really felt he was in the moment’, and Cas again felt a mixture of pride and annoyance. It must have showed on his face, because Balthazar started prying. So Cas confessed that he’d had Dean’s input again (and ignored Balthazar’s smirk at the word _input_ ), but couldn’t bring himself to pretend that Dean had offered anything hands-on this time.

If Balthazar was surprised, he didn’t show it.

Actually, Balthazar was a little too unsurprised.

“I suppose it was too much to hope it was more than a one-time thing,” Balthazar said. He handed the edited chapter back to Cas. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cas asked, and realized too late how invested that sounded. He took the pages and stuffed them in his bag.

Balthazar, of course, shot him a sharp look. “Nothing, really, Cassie. You’re just, um, how do I put this… Two very different people in two very different worlds. He’s a flirt, you aren’t. And the way you described your last run-in, you sounded a bit overwhelmed. He probably didn’t think you were interested.”

Cas bit back a snide retort because whether Balth knew it or not, he was right. Cas hadn’t flirted with Dean because Cas didn’t know how to flirt to save his life. He _had_ been overwhelmed, so much so he had ran out on Dean. How he could think that Dean would be interested in him after that… No, the greater mystery was why he still inexplicably _wanted_ Dean to be interested. Hadn’t he promised himself he’d forget about him?

He had yet to make good on that promise, obviously, but there was no time like the present. First things first: finish revising his own damn story without Dean Winchester’s stupid input.

“I’m going to the library,” Cas said. He stood abruptly and tossed his notebook into his bag and grabbed his light jacket from the back of Balth’s desk chair. He felt his friend’s eyes on him, but kept his head averted. He was too easy to read sometimes, and he really, really didn’t want Balth to start feeling sorry for him for getting attached to a guy because of one stupid kiss.

And proving yet again that Balthazar knew him too well, his friend didn’t comment on the real reason for Cas’s abrupt departure as Cas ran out the door.

 

The human brain is quite adept at tricking itself into thinking it wants one thing when it really wants another. When Cas walked into the library, his gaze swept over the assorted students hunched over texts and notebooks as he walked through the maze toward his favorite table, which was empty. There was a niggle of disappointment in his chest, and he ruthlessly squashed it. _Good_. He was _glad_ Dean wasn’t squatting at his table this time. _Glad_ Dean wasn’t in the library at all. Ridiculous to have wished otherwise, even unconsciously.

He dumped his things down and plopped down in the seat, fully intending to have no focus whatsoever but willing to make the effort. He pulled out actual homework, for once, and flipped open his textbook.

Eventually Castiel became aware of a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, and turned to discover someone looming over him.

Of course it was Dean. And he wasn’t _at all_ glad to see him.

“You know,” Dean moved around the end of the table and dropped himself into the chair opposite Cas as if he had been invited, “We gotta stop running into each other like this.”

“Har, har,” Cas replied. His frustrations—writer’s block, wanting Dean when he didn’t want to want him, wishing Dean wanted him—came rushing out and his tone was hard and clipped. Dean was taken aback; if Castiel hadn’t been looking closely, he would have missed how Dean’s jaw twitched with tension, and how he immediately schooled his face into a pleasant, empty mask. 

“It’s just that thanks to you—” Cas snapped his mouth shut. He’d almost told Dean how obsessed he’d been with him lately. “Thanks to you, I keep getting writer’s block. At this point, I might as well make you my co-author,” Cas finished lamely.

Dean said nothing. Cas pulled the writing notebook from his bag and slapped it down on the table. “Do you even know how frustrating it is to think you’re going to be a writer, to think that you write pretty decently and that maybe you’ll be able to do this for a living someday, but then along comes some guy and he says it all sucks, and he offers unwanted advice which is incomprehensibly helpful, and then suddenly you can’t put down a single fucking word of your own without his help? Well, it is _inordinately_ frustrating and I lay the blame squarely at your feet.”

A very small, very slight smile hovered on Dean’s lips. Cas stared fixedly at his mouth. Completely unbidden, he remembered how Dean had tried to devour him that first time. 

“That’s a shame. Seems like continuing to help you out would be the right thing to do, y’know, since we’re friends, and I’m responsible and all,” Dean said, and the smile grew a bit bigger. 

Cas stared at Dean for a few seconds, then once his brain caught up with what had just happened, he blushed. It was a ridiculous reaction because Dean’s flirtatious response—that was flirting, right? _Dean_ was _flirting_ with him? But also thought they were friends?— was _not what he wanted right now_. He settled his frown back on his face and Dean chuckled.

“Sooo… you wanna, uh—what’s giving you problems right now?” Dean asked. He waved his hand toward the notebook lying on the table.

“Oh, ah…” Cas fumbled through it, and took a few pages to realize what was flitting through his mind wasn’t part of the storyline, but rather one of his half-formed fantasies from Friday night. He hadn’t _meant_ to use it in a story, but they were in the library, so it would be fitting... maybe he could add the scene in later. And maybe a small part of him hoped to goad Dean into offering another hands-on demonstration, unlike what happened the other day. Indecision wavered through him. Dean could back off again, and Cas didn’t know how he’d handle that mortification after opening up about a personal fantasy. Urgency and want tugged at him, stronger than caution. It wasn’t like fate would see fit to give him many chances like this.

“It takes place in a library, oddly enough,” Cas finally managed to say.

“Oh, is that so? What a coincidence.” Dean leaned forward and smirked at him. “We happen to _be_ in a library.”

Cas rolled his eyes, but his heart had picked up the pace and thudded heavily in his chest. That had sounded like an invitation. Was this really happening? Or then again, maybe Dean was just asking out of polite interest, Cas’s anxiety whispered. God, maybe Cas had completely misinterpreted this whole conversation, and Dean just wanted to point out some things again. Then Cas had the wild thought that he’d left out a different notebook, like his biology notes, and Dean was asking about that… 

“You want to elaborate?” As Dean’s voice broke through his panicked thoughts, Dean’s leg bumped Cas’s under the table, and Dean’s foot hooked around Cas’s ankle. Cas jumped, then blushed again. That _had_ to be flirting, right? Cas took a deep breath. If Dean was going to keep dancing around the issue, Cas would just have to jump in feet first.

“There’s a, uh, rarely used map room downstairs, and, um… We—erm, the _characters_ —they… It’s actually very difficult to describe, which, uh….” Cas floundered for a moment, then had a flash of brilliance. “That is the reason I’m having so much trouble writing it! Yes, that’s—um, I could just show you, if you want? I mean, if you’d be interested in, um…” Cas squeezed his eyes shut, but then cracked an eyelid and peeked out to catch Dean’s reaction. 

Dean looked startled at first, and just as Cas’s heart was about to plummet into the pit of his gut, his expression relaxed into a more sly one, and he spoke. 

“Just to be clear, you want to have sex in the map room, with me, to help you with your writing?”

“Uh…” Cas stared. Obviously he’d expected a swift rejection, but this wasn’t a rejection, exactly. Yet. Was it? It didn’t _sound_ like a rejection. “More or less. Yes.”

Dean watched Cas flounder with a considering look. “How long is this story, anyway?”

“It’s mostly completed and I’m just revising it now, which is actually almost more difficult than writing the first draft. It’s around novel length, though—Wait. Why would that matter?”

“Well, you keep asking for help.”

“Yes. You made some good suggestions. I can leave you alone, though, if that’s what you would like.” Cas felt more than a little deflated and struggled to keep his dismay from showing on his face. 

“I didn’t say that,” Dean said, and suddenly Cas was a little too buoyant again. “But it seems to me this might be an ongoing thing.”

And with that, the bubble popped. Cas knew he’d overstepped. If there was anything that everyone he knew was clear on when it came to Dean Winchester, it was that the guy didn’t do _ongoing_. Before Cas could take the words back, before he could claim it was a joke, pay it no mind, Dean pursed his lips and swept his gaze over Cas’s face and down his torso, finally lingering on Cas’s hands, which were clenched for dear life around a pencil.

Dean nodded. “All right.”

“All right?” Cas forgot how to breathe.

“Yup. This is… interesting, I’ll give you that. So I’m willing to see how this goes. But I have some ground rules.” Dean held up a finger. “One: this is not a relationship. No exclusivity, no jealousy or possessiveness. Two: condoms required. Three: it only goes until your story is done, or until one of us wants to split. Capisce?”

“I capisce.” It sounded simple enough… deceptively simple, knowing his luck.

“Now that’s settled, you wanna show me this map room?”


	3. Chapter 3

“ _Mmmf!_ ” Cas said as the metal cabinet dug into his shoulderblades. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Dean said softly once he tore himself away from Cas’s mouth. His hand snuck around behind Cas and braced against the metal drawers, but before Cas could pull Dean back into another kiss, Dean paused, just a breath away from Cas’s mouth. His eyes glimmered in the dim light as he looked at Cas, and Cas was suddenly struck by the oddness of the situation, how strange it was that Dean was here, doing this, with him. An embarrassing little whine escaped; what if Dean had second thoughts, what if he wanted Dean to have second thoughts—

“Is this what you had in mind?” Dean asked. “Tell me how your scene goes.” 

Was this what he had in mind? Definitely not. Cas thought he might actually laugh, he was so out of his element. No, in his mind Dean was the one telling Cas what to do. 

And suddenly Dean shifted, and then his leg was between Cas’s, and his hip pressed up against Cas’s erection. Cas made another embarrassing noise, the ache of his cock heavy and nearly unbearable even though they’d simply been kissing. Not that there was anything simple about Dean’s kisses… He reached out for Dean, whose heavy-lidded eyes and kiss-swollen lips begged for his attention, but Dean remained infuriatingly out of reach with a hand pressed against Cas’s chest. 

“Come back here,” Cas protested, face hot. 

Dean shook his head. “Tell me.”

Dean’s friendly smile was the only thing that prevented Cas from freaking out, but Dean must have seen something on his face because the smile dropped away and the hazy satisfaction in his eyes snapped to a sharper, concerned look.

“Castiel? What’s up, you okay? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable. I just want to know where you want this to go. It’s your story, man.”

Right: to Dean, this was just a thing. A friend helping his buddy out with his story. Cas dropped his head and fidgeted with something on the shelf behind him. A drawer pull, he thought, as it swung against the surface of the drawer. He let his gaze wander along the floor as he thought. The carpeting beneath them was worn, nearly threadbare in parts, and dusky with age. Beverages weren’t allowed in the library, but he could see old coffee or soda stains near his feet.

_Stop stalling_. What did he want? Well, the full answer to that should stay buried for eternity. So, what did he want _right now_?

His scrapped fantasy from the other night had never progressed much further than this before it had morphed into a different one. And now that he was here, acting it out… He’d gotten himself into this situation in the name of gaining experience, but had an instinctual sense that everything would change if Dean had an inkling of just how clueless Cas was when it came to this kind of thing. He’d just have to play along and hope Dean wouldn’t figure it out, then.

Dean shifted his feet and Cas looked up quickly, hoping that Dean wasn’t about to leave, but Dean was simply staring at him, brow furrowed as he waited for Cas to say something. 

“I—” Cas frowned. “I, uh, I really like kissing you.” Cas felt his face flame up again. He stared at Dean’s groin, where his cock visibly strained against the fly of his jeans.

“I can do kisses, but is that all?” Dean leaned forward.

Cas steeled himself, willed himself to be direct for once in his sorry existence.

“I want to touch you, too,” he said, and Dean, correctly inferring what Cas couldn’t actually say, started to undo his pants. But it wasn’t quite right… “Wait, wait—not like that. The table.”

Heart pounding, Cas directed Dean toward the low cabinet table behind him by simply pushing him back until he butted against it. Eyes wide, expectant, Dean scooted onto the tabletop. Cas dove into a deep, hungry kiss while fumbling with Dean’s fly, but couldn’t get the zipper down around Dean’s erection. He broke away and Dean grumbled, but when he saw what the issue was he leaned back onto his elbows to give Cas more space. The soft glow of a dim overhead light illuminated Dean’s face. He was flushed and breathing hard, almost harder than Cas, and it was unreal to realize that Dean was actually into this—into _him_ —and that Cas had this effect on him. It sent a thrill through him right down to this toes. 

Cas finally managed to pull Dean’s cock out of his jeans and watched it with reverence as it twitched and bobbed, waiting impatiently for another touch. But he didn’t want to torment Dean _too_ much; he marvelled at the silky skin as he gripped it in his hand, feeling along the length with a few experimental tugs. He swiped a thumb across the bead of moisture leaking from the tip and spread it around the head. 

Dean gasped, breath hitched. “Are you just gonna stand there lookin’ at it,” he said rather breathlessly, “or…?” 

Dean tried to smirk, but the effect was completely ruined by his full-body shudder when Cas dipped down to mouth along the rigid, throbbing cock as he watched Dean’s face carefully. It bobbed against his cheek as if it had a mind of its own. Dean made several breathless gasps, his mouth slack and eyes nearly closed. Amazed at the noises he was pulling from Dean, Cas slipped the hard length past his lips, only somewhat surprised by the tangy taste. He very much liked the feel of Dean’s cock in his mouth, how heavy it was, how it filled him, the way his lips stretched around it. The heady scent and taste sent shivers through him. Dean’s hand curled tightly in Cas’s hair while he moaned softly, like he was trying to keep control of himself and failing, and this was all so new and… Cas’s cock ached and strained in his pants, his scalp tingled where Dean tugged on his hair, and his jaw started to tighten painfully from the unfamiliar motions, but it was just so _wonderful_ —then he realized Dean was no longer merely gripping his hair, but trying to pull his head up.

“Cas, Cas, wait...” Dean pleaded in a low, raspy voice.

Cas straightened up, back protesting from the hunched-over position he’d been holding. With a sly grin, Dean sat up and shuffled to the edge of the table, legs spread and Cas standing in between them. He made quick work of Cas’s fly, unlike Cas’s fumbling fingers only minutes earlier, and slipped Cas’s cock out. Cas shivered slightly. Dean positioned them so their cocks butted up against each other; and when Dean finally clasped his hand around him, Cas thought he’d have a heart attack because _Dean was touching him, how was this real?_ Cas tried to get a grip on himself as Dean explored, his fingers lightly trailing over the smooth skin, watching his effect on Cas with downcast eyes as he stroked him gently; but when he looked up from under his lashes, his tongue peeking out between his lips, Cas’s knees nearly gave out on him. Dean laughed, and it seemed he was done being gentle. His grip tightened around the both of them and he jacked them together with firm strokes.

Cas’s eyes fluttered shut and he rutted up into Dean’s hand. He was so out of it he hissed in surprise when something cool and wet spilled over him; his eyes popped open and he saw Dean with a small travel-size packet of lube.

“Sorry, shoulda warmed that up,” Dean muttered. He tossed the empty packet behind him.

“Who the hell carries— _ungh_ —lube around with them?”

“I’m an optimist, sue me,” Dean said, his voice jagged and breathy as he stroked the two of them. He screwed his eyes shut and bucked his hips. “Oh, God, that’s so much better.”

Cas agreed. His muscles tensed and tightened as he started to spiral with the heady tingle of his impending orgasm. Dean beat him to it and came with a short, bitten-off cry, and watching his come spill over both of them was enough to send Cas plummeting over that edge, too. He tried to be quiet, he really did, but an embarrassingly loud groan punched out of him. He came so hard a drop landed on Dean’s cheek, and still high, Cas burst into nervous laughter. He reached a shaky hand up to wipe it away, but then realized he didn’t know what to do with his come-smeared thumb. 

Dean solved that problem. He smiled at Cas, a hazy glint in his half-closed eyes, and popped Cas’s thumb into his mouth and suckled the come off of it with an appreciative hum. Cas was too empty and boneless to do anything besides shudder feebly. Holding his gaze very deliberately, Dean licked their combined come off of his own hand, then swiped some more up and held his finger out to Cas. In his post-orgasmic daze, it took him a moment to figure out what Dean wanted, but then, blushing, Cas took Dean’s finger into this mouth and sucked gently until it was clean. 

And shuddered, because that was probably the hottest thing ever.

He’d just started wiping up the rest of the mess with a tissue from his bag when it hit him.

He’d just fucked around in the library. In the _library._ With the single sexiest guy he’d ever met, who just so happened to be the person he had a crush on, who also seemed to think _Cas_ was sexy, and who also _also_ seemed to think they were friends. And Dean had basically agreed to a standing invitation for sex. That Cas initiated. How on earth did he get so lucky? Before his contrary brain could wonder if this was luck or something worse, Cas zipped himself back up.

Well, even if it came back to haunt him, he’d take whatever he could get. Cas chuckled, and Dean shot him a sidelong glance as he hopped off the cabinet tabletop and fastened his own jeans.

“That was good, yeah?” Dean smiled crookedly, misunderstanding Cas’s laugh. 

It was an easy mistake to make, and Cas was on the verge of telling Dean what he’d actually found funny. But… something unpleasant twisted in his belly. Instinctively he knew that if Dean had even an inkling of Cas’s complicated emotions, their association would end before it even got off the ground.

Cas smiled. “It was good.”

 

Dean tossed his controller down and gave a miserable little moan. He glared at the woman squished next to him on the end of his bed.

“How the fuck d’you always manage to sneak up behind me like that?”

She shrugged. “Because I’m the best?”

“Yeah, okay, Charlie. Sure. Remind me never to play this stupid game with you ever again.” Dean switched off the game console—ignoring the protests from Charlie—and flopped back onto the bed between her and Benny, who had his face stuck in a book.

Charlie stared at him closely. 

“You’ve been literally off your game for at least the past week, Winchester,” she said.

“Have not.”

“Yeah, I really think you have, brother,” Benny added helpfully from behind cover. “ _And_ you’ve been spotted at the library an awful lot lately. Why so concerned with your grades all of a sudden? Or maybe it’s that guy you got the hots for?” 

“Ooh, there’s a guy? New hookup?”

“Shut it, Red. You too, Benny.” Dean sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face roughly. “Well, maybe, but he’s not a hookup? Not exactly. We’ve, um, we’re kinda friends. And… Okay, long story, but he writes porn and apparently I’m his muse. So I guess it’s kind of a… thing?”

Charlie gaped at him. “Wait, wait, wait, ignore the complete nonsense about you being someone’s smut muse for a minute. You have a thing? You. Dean “Don’t Fall In Love With Me” Winchester. Have ‘a _thing_.”

Benny peeked out from behind his book and narrowed his eyes. “Who are you, and what did you do with Dean?”

“First of all, it’s not a dating thing, so don’t go freaking out I’m a shapeshifter or something. I just… I dunno, he seems different. He’s not clingy and he doesn’t have all those expectations, which is kind of the opposite of…” Dean paused. He’d meant to say _the opposite of the shit he writes_. But it seemed wrong to tell them about how much crap he’d given Cas about his story and basically goaded the guy into this strange arrangement-slash-friendship. He’d never had to goad anyone into anything before; maybe Cas wasn’t as into it as Dean was, and _that’s_ why the guy hadn’t developed any weird expectations. Dean finished his sentence with a lame-sounding, “the opposite of everyone I’ve ever been with.”

“So, what… the guy’s not clingy _enough_ , and you’re starting to worry he doesn’t like you, is that it?” Charlie said.

Dean grunted. Charlie’d always been way too fucking astute for her own good. Or his own good, even.

“It’s probably good for you to be the one on this side of the equation for once,” Benny said.

“Wow. You guys are dicks,” Dean whined. “It’s not my fault I don’t do relationships.” He eased himself upright—not an easy feat when you’re stuffed between two people at the foot of a full-sized bed—and paced around his small room. After a couple turns, he glanced out the window. A heated game of frisbee took place down on the front lawn.

He needed to do something more active and that would do just the trick. “I’m going outside for a bit. See ya guys later. Oh, and get the hell out of my room.” 

 

For Cas, time passed slowly in a haze of writing and homework. Several early chapter drafts found their genesis in the most recent library escapade, although Castiel was careful not to include the encounter in its entirety. He picked through his memories and used the most generic in his work, changing little details here and there. It was extremely unlikely that Dean was identifiable or the locations were at all recognizable to anyone not attending this school, and he had no idea how Dean would feel if they were, but he thought it’d be best to obfuscate as much as possible. 

He’d squirreled the special moments away in his head, saved them for the lonely nights in his dorm room when he was trying to fall asleep and was instead thinking of a certain green-eyed man. The image of Dean licking come off of his hand with a heated look was a particularly haunting one that he could never quite get out of mind. Not that he wanted to be rid of it, of course; it was just a little frustrating that he hadn’t had any more recent events to think of instead.

Classes were starting to wind down in preparation for the end of the semester, and the time he had to spare for writing was inversely related to the number of papers and projects he had coming due, not to mention prepping for exams. Today he had met with his psychology group to practice their end-of-semester presentation, and they’d decided to camp out in Hannah’s dorm lounge since they were almost entirely fueled by caffeine and the library didn’t allow coffee. They’d wrapped up the test run fairly early, and it was still light out as Cas walked across campus.

One of the things he loved about his school was that although he lived on the opposite end from Hannah, the residential block was so small it only took ten minutes to walk from there back to his own hall. His route took him past the special interest houses for the soccer and baseball players, foreign language students, art students, and the three fraternity houses. It was nearing dusk, with the last few weak rays of sun spreading long shadows over the grass between buildings, but the weather was pleasant with the promise of spring and there was a fair amount of people out messing around. 

One of the other things he loved about this campus was how _weird_ everyone was, even the frat boys: a game of frisbee took place on the front lawn outside a red brick fraternity house, and he watched idly as a skinny guy with a truly striking mullet chased down a high toss. The guy whooped loudly as he leaped, grabbed at, and missed the disc. By the time Castiel was abreast the house, Mullet had retrieved the frisbee from the street. He yelled good-natured insults toward the house, and Cas’s eyes followed his next throw for lack of anything else currently catching his interest.

His feet stuttered and faltered, and he suddenly found the sidewalk cracks to be very interesting. 

Dean was there. And Cas had looked over just as Dean had made a jump to intercept Mullet’s frisbee toss, just as he had stretched a well-muscled arm out and his shirt rode up revealing a tantalizing sliver of skin. Loud hoots of laughter had followed, but Cas kept his gaze firmly on the ground as he walked by and missed whatever had been so amusing.

His hopes of going unnoticed were dashed when he heard the thump of too-quickly approaching footsteps. “Cas!” Dean sounded inordinately excited to see him. Cas turned and was struck dumb. They stood in a shaft of light; the sun picked out the golden tones in Dean’s hair, giving him a halo. He was slightly out of breath and had a healthy sheen of sweat standing out on his skin. Cas had almost forgotten how pretty Dean was, or maybe Dean just kept getting more and more attractive according to the exponential growth of Cas’s crush on him—that certainly didn’t bode well for Cas, because eventually he wouldn’t be able to hide it and Dean would send him packing.

Dean seemed completely oblivious to Cas’s turmoil. He pushed aside the floppy strands of blond hair that hung on his forehead and grinned, his wide, long-lashed eyes crinkling up at the corners. His baseball tee had some fresh dirt stains on it, and he smelled like cut grass, leather, and sandalwood.

If Cas’s life were a book, this would be the moment he realized he was truly falling for Dean.

Fortunately, he had more sense than that.

Dean snapped his fingers. “Hey, hello? Earth to Cas? Haven’t seen you for a while, whatcha been up to? How’s the writing?”

Cas suddenly recalled, in extremely vivid detail, the circumstances of the last time he’d seen Dean. His skin prickled in advance of his flush and he took in a shallow, ragged breath as he stepped back a pace. He knew if he kept staring into those fathomless eyes, kept smelling that intoxicating freshness, he wouldn’t be able to form even the most basic words. Cas was accustomed to observing people, and he didn’t miss the way Dean’s smile dimmed and his eyes tightened the smallest fraction when he’d put that foot of distance between them. He couldn’t think how that would cause such a reaction, so he ignored it and answered Dean’s question.

“I have a group project due soon, so I haven’t been writing much.” Cas shifted his messenger bag into a more comfortable position, and Dean’s eyes tracked the movement before flicking up to meet Cas’s. Something unspoken seemed to pass between them; maybe Cas imagined it, maybe it was real. But he suddenly thought that Dean had brought up the story for a reason. “But, um, I’m starting work on it again. Now. Tonight, I mean.”

Dean cleared his throat. “So do you wanna hang out for a while to go over your, um, material?” He half-turned back toward the frat house, and Cas looked over as well. The frisbee game was still going on in the front yard. The building had a smallish front stoop which was currently filled with chairs, and those chairs were filled with people, a mix of men and women, all talking and laughing loudly. Beer bottles littered the stoop and tendrils of smoke hung in the air. It was an intimidating sight and Cas was on the verge of declining the offer, even though he really did want to ‘work’ on the story.

Dean seemed to read his mind. “We don’t even hafta hang out at the house. You have dinner yet?”

Cas grabbed at the lifeline with unseemly eagerness. “No, would you like to join me?”

“Abso-freakin’-tively.”

 

This was how Cas found himself sitting in a nearly empty cafeteria with a plate of partially congealed spaghetti and a bowl of limp salad in front of him while Dean sat across the table, his plate piled high with three entreés. Cas watched with open-mouthed awe as Dean shoveled food into his face, all the while chatting about his classes and the fraternity, how proud he was of his little brother, who was ‘kicking ass’ in high school, the mixed blessing it was that his dad worked on campus and that’s how he could afford to go here, and about working part-time for his uncle in addition to a campus job with Grounds.

Dean was not unaware of Cas watching him, and paused at one point to smile around a mouthful of chicken patty. “What? I’m a growing boy.”

Cas snorted. “Then eat some vegetables.”

“Touché,” Dean laughed, then cleared his throat. “So Cas, I wanted to get your room number and extension the other day, but you kinda booked it out of the library.”

“Mmm, well, being discovered half-dressed by the janitor is not high on my to-do list.”

“Ahh, he wouldn’t’ve seen anything anyway. You got any paper?”

“I can do better than that.” Cas rummaged around in his bag and pulled out his phone.

Dean eyed it with a raised brow. “You have a cell phone?”

“Yes, my parents insisted. They feel the need to be able to reach me easily at any time.”

“Huh. That sucks, but on the plus side, _I_ can reach you more easily. But since I still live in the dark ages, I need something to write your info on.”

“Oh, right.” Cas pulled out his notebook and a pen and slid them over to Dean, paying little attention as he was trying to remember how to bring up the address book menu on the Nokia. A soft noise a moment later surprised him; he saw Dean flip a page in the notebook and realized what he was reading.

“Um… ” Cas said. “I hadn’t edited much of that yet. It’s very unpolished.”

Dean laughed a little nervously and flipped another page over. “Wow, this is all from the map room thing. Dude, I’m flattered. And a little turned on. But, uh, it’s really similar to what we did… like, exactly what we did, except a little mushier.”

“It is a romance novel, Dean. It should have elements of romance in it, should it not?”

“No, no. You’re right. I just don’t want you to think…”

“I don’t,” Cas said. “It’s just a story, Dean.”

“Well, you’re definitely getting better at the sex scenes. But there’s always room for improvement, right?”

Dean looked up and met Cas’s eyes and his heated look completely altered the meaning of those words. A flutter of anticipation hit Cas square in the chest, and it quickly gave way to a heady rush. He bit his lip. 

“Yes, of course.”

“So, uh. You got a single room?” Dean asked. Cas nodded. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Very much so.”


	4. Chapter 4

Dean was cognizant enough to drag them past the student health center. Cas hovered by the entrance while Dean stuffed a few condoms and some lube packets into his pockets and dropped some change into the box. Cas’s dorm was just around the corner and down a little ways, and they hurried the short distance. Dean chuckled while Cas fumbled for his key card to the building and got tangled up in his lanyard, and again when Cas dropped his room key twice in the hallway. 

Dean stopped laughing when they got inside the room and Cas pushed him against the door and started mouthing along his neck. His hands slipped under Dean’s shirt to trail up his stomach, and the toned muscles jumped under Cas’s light touch. He stuck his nose under the junction of jaw and ear, breathed in Dean’s scent. It was so much better up close; even though Dean had been running around earlier, the slight tang of sweat wasn’t off-putting, but mingled rather nicely with the leather and spicy woods that were more prominent.

Dean tolerated Cas smelling him for a few moments but then pushed Cas off with a groan and tugged off his shirt. He was about an inch taller than Cas, and drew up to his full height as he advanced, driving Cas back toward the bed with a smug smile and desire in his slitted eyes. He gave a little push, and Cas willingly fell backwards, bouncing on the mattress. 

“Take ‘em off,” Dean said. His hands hovered over the waistband of his own jeans as Cas lay sprawled out over the bed, waiting for Dean to get on with it. It wasn’t until Dean quirked an eyebrow at Cas that he realized Dean was waiting for _him_. He quickly wiggled out of his pants and started on his shirt buttons. Dean grinned and unfastened his jeans, kicking them and his shoes and socks off before diving on the bed next to Cas. He pulled off Cas’s glasses and set them aside, then propped himself up on one elbow and gently touched Cas’s chest with his free hand. He drew little circles around Cas’s right nipple. The action seemed more like gentle playfulness than anything sexual, and before Cas could make sense of it, Dean gently flicked Cas’s nipple, then pulled his hand away.

“So, um, you wanna tell me how this scene goes?” Dean asked. 

It still didn’t seem like the right time to make a full confession as to the extent of his lack of experience—he had the vaguely unsettling feeling that it would never be the right time—so Cas just shook his head. Dean had more or less strong-armed Cas into directing their last encounter. Maybe he’d take pity on him and do the heavy lifting this time around.

And indeed, Dean broke the moment of charged silence, his voice low and heavy with promise as he slipped off his boxer briefs. “Fine, I’ll tell you how I want this to go. I want you to fuck me.” 

Cas swallowed thickly, and somehow managed to make his voice work. “Yes, please.”

Dean smiled a rather predatory smile and rolled onto his stomach. He wiggled his butt, and Cas’s tension drained away with a startled laugh.

“You’re such a dork,” he teased and swatted at Dean’s asscheek. Dean looked back at Cas over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s _that_ kind of book, now, is it?”

“I, uh…” Cas froze. He’d just been teasing, and he was mostly certain Dean was teasing in return. _But_ , an insidious voice in his head chimed in, _what if Dean wasn’t teasing_? What if Cas had just opened the door to a world he knew nothing about, and Dean was expecting him to follow through with some kind of spectacular performance? And when he realized that Cas was a fraud, what then? Obviously their arrangement would end. But how badly it would end was the true question. Cas tried not to think of Dean storming out of his room and never speaking to him again, but he rather failed at it.

“Cas, take a chill pill. I was just joking. We can talk about that shit some other time,” Dean said, and Cas was able to move (and breath) again. “You wanna grab the lube and get to work, or what?”

“Only if you promise to stop making sex sound like a chore,” Cas grumbled. But he picked up the little packet of lube—it was the same kind as the last time, so Dean must be a regular visitor to the Health Center and _stop thinking about that_ —and tore it open. Dean tossed one last smirk over his shoulder and spread his legs, his knees bent and back arched a little bit. Cas took a deep breath and spread Dean’s cheeks apart, and gently probed at Dean’s hole with his slicked-up finger. Dean gasped, and Cas eased back. 

_Relax_ , he told himself. Objectively, he knew what to do. Thanks to Gabe, he’d been exposed to a lot of porn, some of which had even been instructional in nature. Oh, but having sex with someone was so incredibly different than imaging it, or watching it, or writing it… He was so riled up he was nearly sick with anticipation. Cas took another deep breath, then another, and teased and caressed the tight ring of muscle until he was able to slip inside. Dean made another noise, and shifted so his back was more arched.

“Is this okay?” Cas asked, more than a little afraid of Dean’s answer. He waited, ready to retreat at a moment’s notice.

“Uh, yeah, mostly,” Dean said, head buried in Cas’s pillow so that his words were a little muffled. “Need a little more lube, though.”

Cas complied and it went much more smoothly. Soon Dean was writhing, his hips thrusting into Cas’s sheets. “I think I’m making a mess of your bed.” Dean laughed, but it sounded a little strained and his fingers clenched tightly in the soft jersey sheets.

“I do not care in the slightest.” Cas had two fingers inside Dean and he scissored him apart; the muscle stretched easily now.

“That was code for ‘stop messing around and fuck me already’,” Dean said.

“Oh.” Cas withdrew his fingers and swiped excess lube off along the sheets. He fumbled with the condom, hands trembling, and he didn’t know if it was nerves or excitement to blame. The safe bet was a combination of many things. The condom fell out of his hand and onto the bed, and he scrabbled for it.

Dean rolled over and picked it up easily. He sat up and grabbed Cas’s hands in his. “Hey, relax, man. I wasn’t being judgy or anything.”

“No, I know,” Cas protested. What was _wrong_ with him, why couldn’t he just hold it together and do this without fucking it all up? “I’m, um.. It’s just been a while. And… it’s _you_.”

Dean’s eyes widened slightly and Cas realized his error. “You’re extremely attractive, Dean, and like I said, it’s been a while, I’m just a little worked up.”

“You’re not the only one,” Dean said. Before Cas could ask for clarification, Dean had ripped open the foil and started rolling the condom over Cas’s cock. Cas knew it was supposed to dull sensation, but that wasn’t really what was happening, not the way Dean was holding and stroking him. In fact, it was the opposite. He swatted Dean’s hand away and finished rolling the condom on himself. 

“You’re too good at that,” Cas explained. “So, um, how do you want it…?”

Dean turned back onto his stomach and tucked his knees up under himself. “This’ll be easier since it’s been a while for me,” Dean said, and Cas stifled the slight pang of disappointment at how impersonal this seemed. He forgot all about that, though, because Dean’s moan when Cas slid into him was absolutely sinful. Cas was so overwhelmed by the sensation he couldn’t trust himself to move right away; he was strung so tightly he might snap. Body humming, he choked off a desperate sound, willing himself to stay still another moment, just one more moment, just until he could breathe properly without shattering into a million pieces. But Dean had other ideas; he rocked, forcing Cas to move with him, and that was the end of Cas’s overthinking it. He thrust into Dean, stuttering and increasingly rhythmless, holding onto Dean’s hips for dear life as their joined bodies slapped together.

Dean cried out sharply after one particularly well-angled thrust, and he got progressively louder after that, to the point Cas briefly— _very_ briefly—wondered how much his neighbors heard. He had the sudden and inexplicable desire to swallow those noises down, not because Dean was too loud—no, Dean’s vocalizations were incredibly hot—but to have something of Dean become a part of himself. Cas forced himself to slow down, although he really, really didn’t want to.

Neither, apparently, did Dean. “Cas why— _ah_ don’t stop, I’m so close, I’m so close, Cas… ”

Cas felt his pulse pounding in his cock and every fiber of his being straining in protest as he struggled to remember what he was doing, to form words that would make sense. “I want to kiss you,” he finally managed. “I want to see you when you come.”

“Yeah okay, we can do that,” Dean panted, and he eased himself off of Cas and rolled to his back. His face and the top half of his chest were flushed a patchy red. Sweat covered him; a drop rolled down his cheek toward his ear and Cas watched it, hyper-focused on every detail. His gaze dropped downward, and he gasped when saw how red and neglected Dean’s cock was, with fluid beaded at the tip. Cas reached out for him, but Dean hooked his arms under his knees and drew his legs up, clearly impatient. Unable to resist, Cas pushed himself back inside Dean, shuddering, fighting to gain control over himself so that he could hold out a little longer. He leaned forward, bent over Dean, and they met for a sloppy, heated kiss. Cas was pretty sure he missed Dean’s mouth completely at first, and that Dean was doing all the work there.

It seemed like only seconds had passed when Dean’s teeth scraped Cas’s lip as he broke away from the kiss. “Gonna come, I’m so— _ungh_ , Cas—!” he cried out, eyes screwed shut, and Cas cradled Dean’s face with his free hand.

“ _Don’t_ , Dean, look at me. Open your eyes, I want to see you,” Cas panted as he stroked the thumb of one hand over Dean’s cheekbone and the other worked Dean’s cock. He planted another haphazard kiss somewhere along Dean’s jaw because he still couldn’t find his mouth, and their noses crashed together as Cas tried to move in the correct direction, but right then Dean obeyed him. They were only inches apart and stared into each other’s eyes. Somehow, _that_ was the thing that pushed him over. Starbursts exploded in his veins as Cas orgasmed; barely a moment later he felt Dean twitch in his hand as his hot come splashed between them.

Cas was drifting along in a satisfied haze when something patted his face. He groaned an objection at the rude awakening and heard a muffled chuckle. 

“Cas, man, you gotta get up for a sec. I’m all wet and sticky,” Dean whined.

Cas cracked open one eye and glared at Dean, who wore a wobbly smile and a sated look. Cas sucked in a breath as he levered himself off of Dean and into a half-sitting position next to him. He winced at his sensitivity as he fumbled with removing the condom. Dean rolled off the bed and prowled around the dimly lit room, and made a soft _aha!_ when he found the box of tissues. He pulled a few out and tossed the box on the bed near Cas.

“I can take off if you want. Sounded like you got a lot of work to get done,” Dean said once he’d cleaned himself off. He turned away and looked around.

“By the desk,” Cas pointed to the wastebasket. “Honestly, you completely wiped me out. I could use a nap.”

“Nap’s good,” Dean said. Grinning, he strode over and hopped back onto the bed. He shuffled around, oblivious to Cas’s incredulous stare, and tugged on the blankets. “You gotta move, dude.”

“Oh, right.” Despite being somewhat dazed—was staying for a nap after sex normal with their type of arrangement?—Cas managed to get them both under the covers. Once that was accomplished, Dean flipped him over on his side and curled around him, his top arm wrapped around Cas’s midsection with his hand lightly stroking over Cas’s stomach. The feathery touch set off flutters in their wake. Cas felt himself slipping into a doze.

All in all, it was a very pleasant way to drift off, even if a little worm of confusion had lodged itself in the back of his mind.

When Cas next woke, he was alone in the room. While he’d been anticipating something of the sort, it was still a little disappointing. Which was ridiculous, because he hadn’t expected Dean to stay in the first place. He scrubbed at his eyes, annoyed at himself. He rolled over onto his back, and something crinkled beneath him. The room was dark, and he fumbled for his bedside lamp. 

Dean had left his extension on a crumpled piece of paper, and that served to ease some of his dissatisfaction. There appeared to be something else written after the number. Cas squinted and held the paper closer to the lamp.

_Library tomorrow?_ the short note said, and Cas smiled, that little flutter of anticipation again lodged in his chest.

 

Cas hurried over to the library after his last class with the intent of staking out the table and waiting as long as need be, since Dean hadn’t left a time on his note. He was so giddy with anticipation he’d barely made it through his classes without bouncing in his seat. He had no idea what to expect, but he’d brought his notebook just in case Dean wanted to ‘work’ on another ‘scene.’ 

But when the table came into view—with Gabe sitting in his usual spot—Cas stopped dead. He’d completely forgotten that Gabe would be waiting for him because today was Friday, and they always met at the library on Friday after classes.

Cas wavered.

If he went over there and Dean showed up, Gabe would ruin _everything_ , because Gabe had an uncannily accurate notion that Cas had a crush on Dean. He should wait outside to intercept Dean and they could go somewhere else, but before he made up his mind Gabe looked up and spotted him. 

“Yo, cuz!” Gabe waved.

Cas trudged over to the table. Gabe looked at him closely and let out a low whistle.

“What’s the occasion?”

“There’s no occasion, Gabriel, and don’t whistle in the library. It’s rude.”

His cousin looked Cas up and down with an exaggerated movement, taking in Cas’s pair of nice jeans and his button-down shirt. His brow quirked and that was _definitely_ a smirk on his lips. “Sure, if you say so.”

Oddly enough, that seemed to be all Gabe wanted to say on the matter. Cas eyed him narrowly before he sat down, but his cousin had stuck his nose back in his textbook. Cas set his bag down and spread his notebook and textbooks out in front of him and tried to study, but he was far too wired to focus. He glanced around for Dean every few minutes. If he spotted him first, maybe he could make a clean getaway without Gabe’s interference.

There was no sign of Dean; the library was still and silent with everyone cramming last-minute. In fact, it was _too_ quiet; he heard the periodic rustling of pages coming from Gabriel’s side of the table, but it wasn’t until he realized Gabe was quieter than usual that Cas became suspicious. All he could see of his cousin around his Sociology book was the top of his forehead and his wavy hair, but he was certainly up to something back there. 

Cas reached over the table and tipped the heavy book down. It hit the tabletop with a hollow thud, and over it, Gabe stared at him with wide eyes. He suddenly grinned, and Cas’s gaze slid down to the book. The glossy magazine pages tucked into the textbook reflected the overhead lights, but Cas didn’t need (or want) to see what they contained. It was fairly obvious from years of experience what sort of material would get his cousin to smirk like that.

“Are you—is that—are you reading _porn_ in the library? While sitting next to me? Seriously, Gabe?” Cas hissed. He dropped his head into his palm and sighed. 

“You write porn in the library while sitting next to me all the fucking time.”

“Shh! I don’t write porn, and yours has _pictures_ in it!” Cas said. “Romance is a very distinc—you know what, nevermind.” His head slid out of his hand and thumped down on the table.

“Your writing’s a little bit porny,” a new voice said, directly behind him, and Cas froze. Of course, _of course_ , Dean had to walk in at the worst possible time. Fearing the worst, he raised his head just enough to peek over at Gabe, who slammed his textbook shut. He looked like he’d swallowed a handful of sour candy. If the world ended tomorrow, at least that look on Gabe’s face was well worth it—until Gabe’s surprise became calculation. Cas knew _that_ look too well. He hid his head in the crook of his arm again.

“Wait a minute, you’ve read Cassie’s smut?” Gabe said.

“It’s not smut!” Cas said. His voice was muffled, but Gabe knew the routine by now.

“Yeah, yeah, romance, whatever bro,” Gabe said. “But you—you, Dean Winchester, read Cas’s stuff, while I don’t even get to peek at it? Cassie, I’m wounded! And I thought you didn’t even know him.” 

“First of all, we’re _related_ , that would be _weird._ Second, I didn’t know Dean _then_. In the ongoing saga of my recurring humiliation, I lost my writing notebook a couple of weeks ago, and Dean found it.”

A soft scraping noise over the threadbare carpet made his head jerk up. Dean sat next to him and scooted the chair awfully close to Cas. 

“I’m Dean,” Dean said to Gabe. Thankfully he had more sense than to try and go for a handshake.

“Yeah, Ace, I know who you are. Gabe Novak. Cassie here has the good fortune to be related to me by blood.” Gabe’s eyes had gone beady and he darted quick looks between Cas and Dean. Cas tried not to scoot his chair away in response.

“Technically, Gabe is my cousin.” Cas said. They were treading on dangerous ground. Gabriel was the _last_ person he wanted to know about their little association. He had a way of ferreting out information and tormenting you with it, and Cas would rather avoid the awkward, probing questions, which is why he hadn’t mentioned hooking up with Dean. Why he’d _never_ planned on mentioning it, not even when he and Gabe were old and grey. Dean was on the verge of mucking up those plans, however. 

He didn’t hold out much hope, and sure enough, Gabe was already putting together the clues that were Cas’s outfit and a new person suddenly sitting at their study table. Sitting _very close_ to Cas. 

“So, Dean-o, you came here _specifically_ to meet Cas?”

“Yep.” Dean’s brow crinkled slightly and he darted a glance over at Cas that Cas caught out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know Dean well enough to hazard a guess as to what that look meant, but he didn’t think it was good.

“Cassie, you sly dog! And you said there was no occasion for looking so sharp! So-o-o-o, tell me everything!”

“Gabriel, this is the perfect example of why I _don’t_ tell you anything,” Cas said. He wanted to apologize to Dean for subjecting him to Gabriel, but not knowing what to say, he caught Dean’s eye and shrugged in hope that it would be interpreted correctly. 

“Uh, Cas and I were… just leaving. Gonna work on a project. Right… ?” Dean trailed off as he stood up. If his chair almost falling over backwards was any indication, he was feeling almost as flustered as Cas.

“Please, for the love of everything holy.” Cas hurriedly packed his things. He hadn’t exactly asked for an extraction, but he’d still take it.

Once they got outside Cas fiddled with the strap of his bag. He felt the need to explain the strange interaction with Gabriel so that Dean wouldn’t read too much into Gabe’s comments.

“So, there’s some family drama that I should probably warn you about in regards to my cousin. My mother Naomi’s brother was Gabriel’s dad. He disappeared when Gabe was ten, and my aunt died a few years after that. He stayed with us often while she was sick, and then he came to live with us after she passed away—” Cas sighed and shook his head. “My parents were already quite distant, and I resented Gabe’s presence, so I wasn’t very good to him and in return he made it his mission to learn how to get under my skin.”

Cas grimaced. Why had he said anything at all? Why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut before he scared Dean away? At least he hadn’t babbled about his uncle and his mother Rachel and sperm donation… The last thing Dean probably wanted to hear right now was a treatise on how Cas was conceived.

Or ever, because Dean hadn’t exactly signed up for anything besides fucking. And technically, neither had Cas.

Dean smirked, but it had no heat. “I mean, I don’t know him at all, but he doesn’t seem like a terrible person. Just an annoying one. I just kinda have to fight off the urge to drive a stake through him when he gets going.” 

“That’s specific,” Cas said, and Dean shrugged. 

“So what’re your plans tonight?” Dean asked after they’d gone several steps in silence. 

Something in Dean’s overly casual tone made Cas cautious, even though he wanted to revel in Dean’s interest. Dean could be trying to make amends for their broken library plans—which, Cas realized, had never been planned out beyond meeting in the library. So maybe Dean was still up for messing around somewhere else. But on the other hand, what if Dean was angling to extricate himself, and just wanted to make sure Cas wouldn’t be too put out by being ditched? He decided to play it safe and cover all the angles.

“Well, my friend Balthazar wanted to go see the band over at the campus bar. I believe he said that the show starts at eight, but we never settled on any details. I could be free, if you had something in mind…” Cas hoped he sounded more nonchalant than he felt.

“There’s a party at the house tonight,” Dean said. Cas grasped at the clue and figured that Dean meant the fraternity house. “It’s basically a theme party, just a few people havin’ a few drinks, some music and dancing. We can do that, if you want. But, I’m up for whatever.”

Cas was silent for a few good moments, until he finally managed to put two and two together. “You… want to just hang out together? At a party?”

“Yeah, man, why wouldn’t I? I mean, I figure we get along okay. It’s easy to hang out with you, and it’s not like you’re the embarrassing Novak.” Dean was looking at him strangely, one eyebrow cocked high on his forehead as if Cas was the one saying weird and unexpected things. Cas felt that fluttering in his chest, the one that appeared disturbingly regularly the more he was around Dean. He knew he shouldn’t read too much into this, and his heart should just shut up and accept it, but he had a feeling it was only going to get more difficult.

“I… Yes. Okay.”

“Cool, we can hang out in my room until party time, then. This way.”


	5. Chapter 5

Dean’s room was on the third floor of the fraternity house, right next to the stairwell, tucked into the corner of the house away from other rooms on the floor. A network cable snaked out under the door and trailed down the hallway, but Cas lost track of its path when he whipped around to stare at Dean, who knocked perfunctorily on his own door.

“You have a roommate?” Shouldn’t they have gone to Cas’s room if Dean lived with someone? Maybe Dean really _did_ just want to hang out. But was that a good sign, or a bad one...

“Not really?” Dean said as he pushed the door open. “More like an unwelcome semi-permanent house guest—Yo, Charlemagne, comin’ in!”

Dean stepped into the room, and Cas followed him in. The room was average-sized, bright, and fairly cluttered, though not precisely messy. Being at the corner of the building, the room had two windows, and warm afternoon light streamed in. The walls were bare save a calendar above the computer desk and two posters, one of Indiana Jones, and the other some animated program he didn’t recognize. Dean’s bed was shoved into the far corner against the interior wall, and in the opposite corner was a large computer desk.

Cas stopped short. 

A red-headed woman sat at the computer playing a game. She wore a giant pair of headphones and didn’t turn away from the screen, so he couldn’t be sure if she’d even noticed them enter the room. He could only see the back of her head, but she just _seemed_ cute, and he felt awkward and out-of-place.

Dean flapped a hand at the woman, almost dismissively. “That’s Charlie. She’s kinda having a long-term Starcraft LAN party in my room with Ash— well, you don’t know him either—um, it’s a long story. Short version is, she’s having roommate-slash-ex-girlfriend troubles, so she stays here a lot.”

“Oh.” Cas blinked up at Dean. “Okay. What’s Starcraft?”

Dean chuckled. “Hah, alright, sure. Well, uh, _mi casa es su casa_ , or whatever.”

Then the rest of Dean’s words registered, and a flood of relief washed through Cas. And now he noticed the battered futon under the other window, which was covered in mussed blankets and a pile of laundry. A sad, lumpy pillow hung off the side. Charlie’s makeshift bed, apparently. 

Dean sat on the real bed, and Cas’s attention followed him automatically, like a cat watching a bug on the wall. Dean’s bed—oh, was he having ideas already—was tidy, with a gray quilt tucked in around the sides and end. A trunk sat at the foot, a large foam sword stood propped against the trunk, and there was a dresser with a TV and some electronics in the open closet next to the door. Dean patted the spot next to him, but Cas didn’t budge. He stood and watched as Dean pawed through a basket filled with gray plastic cartridges.

“Cas, you wanna play some games until stuff starts happening? I have at my disposal—”

“Most of those games are mine,” Charlie called over her shoulder, her voice overly loud, and Cas jumped a foot in the air.

“Ignore her. _At my disposal,_ uh, I’ve got Mario Kart, Goldeneye, Mario Party, Charlie’s—”

“Dean...” Cas said.

“—weird Puyo Puyo game, or if you prefer PlayStation there’s Gran Tu—”

Cas laughed. “Dean, stop! Um, I don’t know what any of these are.” 

Dean’s head jerked around and he gave Cas a suspicious look, eyes narrowed into slits. “What, for real? Wait, so you really don’t know what Starcraft is, either? You weren’t just being cute?”

Cas looked over his shoulder at Charlie’s computer screen. He wished he could pretend so as to avoid the inevitable awkward questions about his upbringing, but the pixels moving back and forth on the screen meant nothing to him, so he shrugged. 

“Oh,” Dean said, as his eyes went wide. He watched Cas thoughtfully, and now Cas felt like the bug. “Oh, wow, dude. So I’m guessing like, no cartoons or comic books or X-Files or the Simpsons either?”

Dean seemed to have remarkable insight.

“No. I come from a very strict family. My parents only allowed us to have educational entertainment, and I was expected to be an outstanding student, so I spent much of my free time writing or studying.”

“That’s shitty, dude. Guess it explains why you’re so weird. I mean that in the best way, by the way. Wait, wait, wait. If you were so sheltered, how the hell did you get into, well, _you know_.” Dean arched an eyebrow in emphasis, in case there was any mistaking he meant the smutty scenes they had acted out.

Cas huffed a short, humorless laugh. “Gabriel, of course. He’s been a corrupting influence on me for half my life. He can make porn appear with just a snap of his fingers. And Rachel—my mother—read a lot of romance novels whenever she and Naomi were barely speaking to each other. Which was much of my childhood, now that I think about it. Anyway, I snuck the books into my room and read when I was supposed to be asleep.”

He barely managed to stop himself from explaining further, but it was unlikely that Dean wanted to hear how much young Cas had clung to the romantic notion of love he found in those books, how he ached with loneliness and that he wished he’d find his own love story like that someday. 

He hadn’t yet, of course. That was one of the reasons he wanted to write romance, to live vicariously through the characters he created. That lately some of those characters tended to resemble Dean didn’t mean that he specifically needed his love story to be with Dean, even though that’s what his novel was turning into...

‘Huh,” Dean said. He chewed on his lip. “I can’t ever remember my mom reading anything like that. My parents needed _less_ passion,” he continued in an undertone, and Cas waited for him to elaborate, but nothing further was forthcoming. Dean just sat on the end of his bed and stared blankly at the television, his gaze far away, hands folded in his lap and a forgotten game cartridge cradled in his fingers. Before Cas could decide whether or not to interrupt Dean’s thoughts, a loud _whooop!_ came from Charlie. She tossed her headphones aside and stood up, stretched, and spun around into a little shimmying dance.

“I won! Suck it, Ash!”

A much louder scream of anguish floated down the hallway and into the room. This, presumably, was the mysterious Ash, but although Cas was startled by it, the interruption was ignored by both Dean (still staring off into space) and Charlie, who was now holding out her hand to Cas. She had a firm grip, and it seemed to suit her as much as her wide, friendly smile and flaming red hair.

“Sorry I didn’t intro sooner, I was at a critical stage in the tech tree and had to get my troops out before that walking carpet stole a march on me.”

“Uhh,” Cas said, but Charlie talked right over him.

“I’m Charlie, Dean’s bestie. And you are?”

“Cas—”

“You’re _Cas_?” Without warning Charlie grabbed his shoulders and crushed him in a hug. “You’re the one with the thing!”

“I, um—the thing? I’m Dean’s… friend?”

Charlie released him. She narrowed her eyes and gave him a thoughtful look, her face tilted up to him. “You don’t sound so sure of that.”

Cas scrambled to find a good explanation. “We only met a couple of weeks ago, actually, so by that I mean, I’d like to be his friend.”

She chortled. “I’ll bet you would.”

“Charlie, leave ‘im alone,” Dean chided.

Charlie made a _hmm_ noise, but said nothing further. Instead she leveled a long look in Dean’s direction, which, Castiel thought, Dean went to great effort to ignore while he dug through more cartridges.

Dean continued, “We’re just hanging out until the party later, all right? Nothing earth-shattering in that.”

Castiel was suddenly aware of a pressure change, like a large bubble sprung up around the three of them. He felt like his ears needed to pop.

Charlie either didn’t notice the sudden tension, or she did, and she was one of those people who try to diffuse it with chatter. 

“Did you guys already eat? Because I could eat something. Boy, those video games, they sure do work up an appetite. I’m going to head over to Commons, anyone want to join me? No? All right then, just me, going off all by my lonesome…” When she continued to receive no response from either Cas or Dean, she grimaced. “I’m just gonna… go now.” 

Cas had been hoping for some alone time with Dean, but as the weird tension continued to radiate from Dean, he wished he knew her well enough to ask her to stay.

 

Dean showed Cas how to play Mario Kart, but his previous warmth was gone, replaced by a cool, hard shell. It gnawed at Cas. The man was confusing. He possessed complex and hidden emotions that were totally alien to Cas, and he had no idea how to relate to someone so, so… expressive by nature, given his own very reserved bearing. 

Well, he amended, Dean wasn’t _actually_ expressive, precisely. But it was clear he had strong emotions and that they simmered right beneath the surface. He wondered, not for the first time, why Dean kept everything so tightly reined in. In a flash of insight, he thought it had something to do with his early impression of Dean, where he’d pegged him as charming as hell, but as bland as a pretty rock. The thought slipped out of his mind too quickly for him to fully grasp and expound upon it, and his lips quirked into a frown. Understanding human complexity was something he could improve upon, especially when it came to his characters, but he was also annoyed because he wanted to understand Dean better, even if they were—friends, or—whatever they were to each other.

With that gloomy thought stuck in his mind, Cas shook himself out of his reverie only to see his game character sitting in place where it’d run off the track and come to a standstill at a wall.

Dean tossed his controller down on the end of the bed and flopped back. The momentum made him bounce. He tucked his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

Cas pulled at a loose thread on the quilt.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Dean finally said. His voice sounded thin and forced. “Was it Charlie? She can be a bit much. Do you… not want to be here anymore?”

Cas was good at observing, if not understanding. It was obvious that Charlie had noticed something about him—or maybe about Dean—and also that she had realized she should keep her mouth shut. Beyond that he was clueless. It wasn’t Cas’s place to ask, but he desperately wanted to know what had passed between Charlie and Dean in that moment. She’d seemed to like him, at least. But maybe somehow she knew what Cas was in for. The squeezing sensation in his chest was back, and he didn’t know what he felt—hopelessness, because he liked Dean more than he was supposed to? Excitement, because at least he got to spend this time with Dean?

When he finally looked at over at him, Dean’s arm was flung over his face, effectively shielding him from Cas’s sharp gaze.

“I do want to be here,” Cas said. “Charlie is lovely, but a bit of a… surprise. And it seemed like something was going on between you two. I didn’t want to interfere, that’s all.” Something else occurred to Cas. “She knows, though, doesn’t she? About our arrangement?”

Dean nodded. His arm flopped down onto the bed but he kept his eyes closed. “Just the bare bones. Is that going to be a problem?”

“No. I may have, um, hinted at a few things to my best friend, too. It just seemed too unlikely to be true, so I needed to… say something, I suppose.”

“Yeah, man, I get that. Charlie—well, she has a way of weaseling things out of me that I’d normally keep to myself,” Dean said. His eyes popped open and he looked at Cas with earnest. “Not that I’m keeping this a secret because I’m embarrassed or in the closet or anything like that. It’s just that… I dunno, what I do is my business and not everyone else’s, I guess. God, I’m not even making sense to myself. Point is, I don’t— _can’t_ —hide much from Charlie.”

A thrill of pleasure swept over Cas as he absorbed Dean’s words. Apparently, he _really_ liked the idea of this thing, this arrangement, belonging to Dean and himself, theirs to do with as they pleased. It didn’t even matter that this wasn’t an actual relationship. He very deliberately picked up his game controller and placed it on the trunk, then followed suit with Dean’s. He crawled up the bed and braced himself over Dean. It may have been wishful thinking, but he thought he felt the warmth from Dean’s body, and leaned in closer.

Dean’s eyes darted over Cas’s face, lingering on his lips and then his eyes. When Dean’s tongue peeked out between his lips, wetting them, Cas felt his blood thrum through his veins.

“Can we make out now, Dean?”

“Yes. Yes, we can.”

 

A make-out session was the perfect distraction. Dean was glad Cas hadn’t wanted to pry too much into Charlie’s cryptic statements. The last thing he needed was Charlie waxing poetic about Dean never hanging out with his hookups as friends.

Even if it was true, he still didn’t need Charlie giving Cas ideas. He knew himself pretty well by now, and despite how much he liked Cas there was no chance Dean would spontaneously turn into someone else—that being someone who actually wanted a relationship. 

He _did_ like Cas, though, more than he’d liked anyone else before. Which was weird, because the guy—well, he was _weird_. Sheltered, formal, but (as his writing showed) with a wicked imagination. He just needed more experience, something Dean was very, very pleased to help with. If he was ever tempted to feel bad about saying the guy’s writing was bad, their little deal more than made up for it. 

He just hoped things could continue like they had been. As long as Cas didn’t expect too much from Dean, it would work out fine. 

Funny, the first time they kissed, Cas had barely participated. Already he was so much better at it… Dean slid his hand up under Cas’s shirt and trailed his fingers along his ribcage. Cas moaned into his mouth, and— 

“Oh, blergh! Get a room!”

They parted guiltily, but Dean recovered quickly.

“Fuck off Charlie, this _is_ my room! Learn to knock, you’ll save yourself a lot of mental scarring.”

Cas kept himself turned toward Dean as he tugged his t-shirt down as far as it could go, and between that and the way he shifted to lie face-down on Dean’s bed, and by how his blush had spread around to the back of his neck, it was pretty obvious the guy had a hard-on. Not that Dean was in much better a state. _Down, boy_ , he told himself. 

“What’s up with Cas, did you break him?” Charlie peeked around the door again.

“Your face is broken,” Dean muttered. His fingers fumbled with his shirt buttons.

“Nice comeback, genius. Seriously, though, why did I come up here? I can’t be scarred like this for no reason. Oh! Right. Benny wants you to help set up for tonight. You’re on decorating duty, or something.”

Dean threw his pillow at Charlie, but she ducked out of the room and it flopped to the floor harmlessly. 

“Maybe there are a few things we should hide from Charlie,” Cas said, and Dean burst into laughter. He tripped trying to crawl out of bed over Cas, and took the opportunity to plant a soft kiss in Cas’s hair while he fumbled around, and then immediately wondered what the fuck he was doing. Luckily, Cas didn’t seem to notice. 

They went down to the basement, where the party would be held, and while Cas helped Dean put up strings of lights and streamers, Dean chatted about movies and games in a vain effort to discover if Cas had ever seen or played anything cool. He had definitely not. Instead, Cas blathered on about some of his favorite books. Dean hadn’t heard of most of them. The ones he had were required reading in high school lit, the kind he’d never been able to finish because they were boring and the language was impossible. He’d had to bluff his way through all the assignments. But, Dean reasoned, it wasn’t really surprising Cas was into that stuff. Luckily he’d at least seen the original Star Wars trilogy. The ‘luckily’ being not for Dean’s sake, but because Charlie was the kind of person who might friendship-dump Cas over Star Wars if she’d been drinking.

_Why do I care if Charlie and Cas get along_ , he wondered, but shook the thought away. Episode One was coming out in a month. He should probably ask Cas if he wanted to go with him and Charlie and some of their other friends. It was impossible to put into words how awesome it’d be to actually see a Star Wars film _in the theater_. Who knows if they’d ever get the chance again? Before he could actually ask, Benny and a couple of his brothers—Garth, Gordon, and Victor—tromped down the stairs with heavy bags of sand. That was the ‘beach’ part of this beach party, and one Dean wasn’t too happy about.

“I’m tellin’ you fellas, this is gonna be a heckuva mess to clean up,” Garth said.

“It always is, brother, always is,” Benny said.

Gordon grunted, his habitual frown in place, but toted his sack up to the edge of the pool and slit it open with a wicked-looking knife that always made Dean feel a little nervous. Benny grabbed the other half and the two of them poured the sand into the pool.

Meanwhile, Garth was waggling his eyebrows and jerking his head so hard in Cas’s direction it looked like he was gonna have a conniption.

Dean rolled his eyes. He could take a hint, even when it wasn’t pathetically obvious. “You guys met Cas yet?”

Benny paused in his sand-pouring to spare a glance and a nod toward Cas. Vic also nodded and Gordon completely ignored them, but Garth smiled broadly and came over, arms outstretched. Cas rolled his eyes toward Dean, but he was enveloped in a tight hug and given several pats on the back before he had a chance to escape. 

“That’s Garth. He grows on ya,” Dean said with an easy smirk as Cas was released.

Garth laughed, not taking insult in his good-natured way. “Nice to meet you, Cas. That short for anything?” Cas readily answered Garth’s question, and stumbled over a few more of an astoundingly personal nature, and then suddenly Benny was there pulling Garth away.

“He don’t mean anything by being nosy. I’m Benny, current president of this fine establishment. So. You coming to the party tonight with Indy, then?” He regarded Cas with an even stare, and Dean tried not to squirm. _Cas_ should be the nervous one.

Cas, who just stared at Benny, consternation evident in the tilt of his head. He didn’t even realize he was being vetted, the dork. Dean felt like a balloon was swelling up in his chest, and it might burst any moment. “Who’s Indy?” Cas asked, looking between Dean and the other men.

Benny laughed, a deep belly laugh. “Dean’s Indy. It’s his official house nickname because he has a crush on—” 

“Okay, alright, enough of that. Get back to work, Benny!” Embarrassed, Dean turned back to the pile of decorations.

Benny _tsk_ ’d, but steered Garth back toward the sand pool. “We’ll see you at the party, then, Cas,” Benny called over his shoulder as if there was no question about Cas’s attendance. Dean supposed that at this point it was a given, but it still made him feel a little off, like things weren’t fitting in place the same way they used to.

Cas pulled him a little aside once the others had gone back to wrangling sand. He had a very knowing sort of look on his face. “You have a crush on Indiana Jones? That explains the poster, then.”

And Dean sighed.

 

Bass thumped throughout the house, increasing in volume and wall-shaking capacity as they descended to the lower levels. Someone had put up strobe lights and black lights. Cas’s pulse thudded along with the beat. He felt odd, distanced from himself but strangely excited. On the ground floor, Dean detoured to snag something from a basket by the front door, then dropped it around Cas’s neck. Cas fingered it.

Dean watched Cas with a small half-smile as he attached their wristbands. “It’s a lei, dude. Beach party, remember?”

“Oh. Of course.”

The music grew impossibly louder as they reached the bottom of the stairs. The door was closed and it was dark on the landing, but he could see a couple making out in the corner underneath the stairs in the dim light that filtered down from above. The door banged open as a small group of shrieking people dashed out and pattered up the stairs in flip-flops and bare feet. One of the girls was wearing a colorful patterned bikini, and a guy had on nothing but a beach towel wrapped around his waist.

Dean steered Cas through the door and over to the bar, where a familiar but unexpected face greeted him from behind an electric blue monstrosity of a drink with a tiny umbrella. She was dressed up in a filmy blouse without a bra, and had one side of her dark hair pinned back with a large flower. At first, her wandering gaze slid past him, but it quickly darted back to him with some surprise.

“What the hell are you doing here, Clarence?”

“Hello, Meg,” he said, but then she was staring at his companion with wide eyes. She looked back and forth between Dean, who still had his hands on Cas’s shoulders, and Cas, who was turning bright red. Thankfully the basement was very dark, lit only by the lights they’d strung up earlier and a few black lights and a strobe. Meg pulled him to her side and out of Dean’s grasp. Dean barely seemed to notice, and darted only one quick look at Cas before going behind the bar to talk to the bartender, who was one of the guys Cas had seen earlier while they were decorating. He had a vague memory of being in a class together freshman year, and thought his name might be Victor. Dean laughed and punched Victor lightly in the shoulder; his hand lingered a few moments and Cas experienced that same crushing stab to his midsection he’d felt when he met Charlie. 

It was stupid, of course. He knew better than to feel jealous that Dean had friends; good friends, people that he could be affectionate with, people besides Cas. Still, there was something flat and unpleasant about the realization that he was another one of those people—no, not even; he didn’t know Dean very well, and he was the kind of friend who would, eventually, not have the right to be affectionate with Dean. Their _thing_ had a countdown clock, courtesy of his submission deadline. Unless Dean had reason to end it sooner, of course, so Cas had to be careful not to let his stupid feelings show.

“You know Dean?” Meg said loudly, drawing Cas’s attention back to her.

“For a couple of weeks now, yes.”

Meg quirked a brow. She didn’t say a word, but he knew exactly what she was thinking, and he shrugged.

“There really isn’t anything to tell. We’re… friends.” He decided to leave it at that; Meg was his dear friend, and on occasion he enjoyed her caustic and crude wit, but he really didn’t feel like being the subject of her teasing tonight. Meg picked up the slack with a story about the Sociology professor she wanted to bone and the two soccer players she hooked up with last weekend. Cas had played soccer in high school and had been subjected to Meg’s lusty appreciation of soccer players’ thighs before, so tried to head her off at the pass before she got to the gory details.

“You’re completely inappropriate,” Cas half-yelled over the music. “Whatever happened to Balthazar?”

Meg laughed, the low, throaty one that meant she was already somewhat drunk. “He’s nice, but not really my type. At least, not more than once.”

Cas rescued her drink, which was tipped precariously in her careless hand. “How many of these have you had, anyway?”

“Eh, you can have that one. I don’t even really like it.” Her head was slightly wobbly as she regarded him, but her eyes pored over him unerringly. “B’sides, it looks good with your outfit.”

He looked down at the Hawaiian shirt he’d borrowed from Dean, momentarily surprised by the fact that it was still hanging open like Dean had wanted, baring his chest for all to see (except Dean, who had disappeared). Cas darted a hooded glance at Meg and then around their immediate vicinity; he was somewhat mollified to realize that he was hardly the least dressed, but still took a long pull from the plastic cup Meg pressed back into his hand. It was overly sweet, only the slightest bit tempered by what he thought was lemonade. He rather liked it, though, and before he knew it, he’d finished that one and had another passed to him by Victor.

Meg soon wandered off, her eye on a curvy blond woman in a sarong. Cas tucked himself into the corner of the bar and the wall and stared into the pulsing throng, angling to catch a glimpse of Dean’s dirty blond locks, vibrant shirt, and shockingly short cut-off jean shorts—or anyone he was even passingly familiar with—in the wall of glowsticks and dancing. He caught a glimpse of Benny with his arm draped around a dark-haired woman. Garth was holding court with a group of equally gangly guys that must surely be freshman.

But he didn’t know either Benny or Garth well enough to want to approach. Perhaps someone slightly more than passingly familiar would be best. He’d even settle for Gabe’s company at the moment, but his cousin hadn’t mentioned any intent to attend this party. Cas leaned his head back against the wall. The lights he and Dean had strung up that afternoon twinkled and swam in his vision. He was so tired that they seemed to sway side to side. 

He was pulled from his reverie by Meg’s return. She looped her arm through his and tugged him off the stool; in his surprise, he stumbled against her. Her breasts pressed against his bare chest, her nipples obvious through the thin, gauzy material that passed for a shirt. He jerked back, red-faced and tingling with the beginnings of an awkward arousal. He was vividly reminded of the party at the Art House, the one Gabe had dragged him to last year where he and Meg had met for the first time. She’d walked over, introduced herself, and kissed him. They’d gone home separately after some intense groping, but somehow, impossibly, became friends.

Tonight, apparently, Meg had plans that didn’t include molesting him. She swatted at his arm while she laughed. “Oh, no, Clarence. I might be meeting up with that girl later. Besides…” she trailed off, and looked over his shoulder pointedly. Before he could turn around, a warm solid mass closed in behind him, effectively trapping him against Meg, who was now backed up against the wall, her breasts smashed between them. She squeaked, but didn’t try to move away. A familiar scent tickled at the back of his mind: Dean. Warm lips trailed along Cas’s neck and nibbled at the shell of his ear, and he shivered into the touch. Meg said something that sounded like _hot damn_ , but Castiel felt a jolt of guilt shoot through him before he remembered he and Dean weren’t exclusive. Still, he would have backed away from Meg if Dean hadn’t been crowding him in so close to her. As it was, things were about to get embarrassing for him very quickly.

Dean’s voice cut through the haze that was Cas’s mental faculties at the moment. “Miss me?” Dean hooked his chin over Cas’s shoulder, and Cas could practically feel his weighted gaze sweep over Meg and her glazed expression. His voice rumbled through Cas’s bones. “Or ‘m I interruptin’ something?”

“You’re not missing anything,” Cas said. “We weren’t—” It took far more effort to make words than it should have, and as soon as the words were out, Cas realized something. Dean didn’t sound angry, he sounded intrigued. Which meant—what _did_ that mean? In one of Gabriel’s porn flicks, this would be a prelude to a threesome, but surely that wasn’t happening _here_ — 

And then Dean wrapped an arm around Cas’s chest and then the hand attached to the arm slowly meandered its way down until Dean’s palm passed over what was surely, by now, the hardest erection Cas had ever had in public. Dean hummed appreciatively right into Cas’s neck, and Cas’s knees almost buckled. Meg laughed throatily, and Dean said: “You guys wanna come up to my room?”


	6. Chapter 6

Cas was hardly aware of how they managed to stumble upstairs. He was plastered against Dean and kissing him, open-mouthed and sloppily. Meg trailed behind them, a hand tucked into the back of Cas’s shorts like she didn’t want to be forgotten. 

He either fell or was pushed back onto Dean’s bed, his glasses were removed, and then Meg was on top of him, pushing his borrowed shirt aside roughly. Her hands trailed over his chest and she leaned down, her soft breasts jutting against his sensitive skin as she closed in for a kiss. It was entirely different from Dean’s, from the obvious lack of stubble down to how she kept the kiss impersonal and light. Dean, he thought hazily, devoured him every time he kissed him. Meg tasted of the sweet drink she’d given to him, and faintly of cigarettes. Sugar and brimstone compared to Dean’s warm, hoppy taste. A soft noise next to him distracted him briefly; when he registered the condoms and bottle of lube tossed there by Dean, it finally hit him that _this was something that was happening_. He buzzed with the languid thrill that came from being slightly tipsy. The biggest surprise was he was definitely not freaking out, which is how he thought he’d react to this previously only hypothetical situation.

Meg broke free from his kiss and moved off of him; he frowned, but a hand cupped his face and turned him toward Dean, who was now stretched out beside him, and then Dean was kissing him again, and hands were tugging off his shorts—and someone was making these pitiful little noises. It might have been him. When his cock sprang free, cool air kissed his skin for only a moment before his cock disappeared into the hot, wet velvet of Meg’s mouth. He hissed his surprise into Dean’s lips, and Dean shivered, deepening the kiss with the plunge of his tongue. Cas writhed on the bed under Meg’s ministrations, his pulse thudding through his throbbing, aching body as time ceased to have any meaning.

But nothing lasts forever; he whined when Meg eased off his cock, but he quickly realized he’d been getting all the attention so far. With some effort, he pulled away from Dean’s kiss. Unsure how to say what he wanted, he tapped Meg’s knee, then mouthed up her thigh until she seemed to get the picture. Amid some fumbling and misplaced hands and murmured apologies, she maneuvered herself over Cas’s head. The tangy scent of her arousal washed over him, and heat radiated from her core. He’d never done this before, but he’d definitely been subjected to Gabriel’s porn enough times to have a general sense of what to do. Not that his body didn’t have a clear idea already. He lapped at her, and Meg squirmed above him, making breathless little gasps as he worked his tongue around her folds. 

Dean was murmuring nonsense like _so fucking hot_ and _fuck yes_ and it was driving Cas crazy, but why wasn’t Dean touching him— _oh_. A cool finger, slick with lube, traced along his cock and over his balls as it traveled downward, then disappeared as Dean’s weight shifted on the bed. Moisture beaded at the tip of his cock and he was painfully hard by now, and he desperately wanted Dean to touch him again. His cock jumped when Dean’s light touch resumed, not on his dick, but gently pressed against his hole.

“Is this alright?” Dean’s voice was surprisingly soft. 

Cas nodded vigorously—but Dean couldn’t see him—he broke free from Meg to breathlessly choke out: “Oh, yes, please, _please_ —”

Dean chuckled and eased a finger inside. Cas gasped at the unusual sensation.

Dean was _very_ good at this, much better than Cas; he was soon spread wide and panting. It was very difficult to pay the proper attention to Meg while Dean’s clever fingers were deep inside him, sometimes just grazing against his prostate, but she didn’t seem to mind his increasingly frequent lapses, and instead started to ride his face with vigor. Cas was basically floating so high the sound of foil tearing barely registered, but he definitely noticed when Dean’s thick cock pressed into him slowly, carefully. Dean slid home like they were made for each other. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before: stretched full, filled to bursting, and it was perfect. He tried to tell Dean how perfect it was, but he could barely think, and whatever words escaped him were swallowed up by Meg as she twitched and shuddered above him. 

Somehow he had slipped two fingers inside her despite having virtually no awareness of anything other than the feeling of Dean inside him. His fingers moving within Meg echoed the slick slide of Dean thrusting in and out and in and out of him, though he was focused on the feeling of being stretched and filled, focused on the sound of Dean panting and praising him. He felt the thud of his own heartbeat, the roaring in his ears, and the electric fire zinging through his veins.

“God, Cas, you’re so hot—so perfect. So sexy. I’m so close, Cas—” The words were pulled from Dean in breathless gasps, his voice thick and wrecked. He gripped Cas’s dick in a hot hand and started to thrust erratically, pumped him harder and faster and it was _so_ perfect, Cas wanted this to last forever but thought he might die if it did.

Meg cried out suddenly and shuddered on top of him. A moment later she slid away. Cas gulped in several deep breaths, cool air caressing him, and he was barely aware of Dean grabbing his hand. _Jesus_ , Meg murmured from somewhere next to them, and Cas’s toes curled when Dean’s tongue threaded between his fingers, laving Meg’s essence from him. That was it for Cas; a wave of starbursts flooded through him and he came. With only a few more jerky thrusts, Dean followed him over the edge.

 

Meg was the first to recover, he thought. Cas was still drifting in a post-orgasmic haze, but he heard her speak, a quiet mutter in a low, throaty voice. There was a laugh, a quickly-ended chuckle. He may have said something in response, or maybe that was Dean, but he could also have been dreaming. 

Then Dean was wiping him down with a damp cloth. When he finished, Cas struggled up. Everything ached, so he shuffled backwards until the wall took his weight, held him upright. The room was dark, still lit only by filtered moonlight that bathed everything in grey and navy tones, but it was easy enough to tell that he and Dean were alone. The muffled thump of the music from downstairs was almost imperceptible, and the room was otherwise quiet. 

Dean finished cleaning himself and tossed the cloth—a dark blob which managed to look suspiciously familiar, but he couldn’t think right now—to the floor and scooted over until he was next to Cas. 

“Meg?” Cas asked, voice rough.

“Said something about apologizing to a blond chick? Also ‘thanks’ and ‘that was fucking hot’.” Dean sounded a little worse for wear, as well. It sounded good on him; he wanted to be able to make Dean sound like that all the time.

“Well. That was…” Cas trailed off. 

Dean laughed, raspy and halting. “Yeah, that’s not really my normal fare. I mean, don’t get me wrong, not my first group party. But definitely not something I was angling for with you… ” He stared at Cas in the dark. “You don’t even know how irresistible you are, do you? I watched you guys together; I saw how turned on you were and how you were pretending not to be and I wanted to _make_ you squirm while you made her squirm. Couldn’t get the thought out of my head.”

Cas flushed at the praise and ducked his head. How could Dean possibly be that into him when he had no idea what he was doing? Why wasn’t his inexperience as blindingly obvious in person as it was in his writing?

Dean bumped his shoulder and tilted his head onto Cas’s.

“So, hey, you wanna stay over?” Dean asked, his voice quieter, less playful and somewhat hesitant. “Don’t wanna kick you out if you’re dead tired. Also—and I will fight you if you tell anyone—I maybe like to cuddle after sex just a little bit.”

Too wrung-out to tease Dean for that admission, too tired to think through the implications for his own well-being, Cas simply nodded and flopped down on the bed. He burrowed under the covers, and Dean snuggled up next to him.

“That was—that was a first for me,” Cas admitted in a rush. “I’ve never…” Foreboding welled in his chest, but he needed to confess. This was all too much, far too much. Dean was everything he wanted, other than the little fact that Dean didn’t want him. Not the way Cas wanted to be wanted. And this arrangement… this _thing_ was quickly becoming overwhelming. If he got the words out, then maybe Dean would do the hard part and cut him off before it was too late—if it wasn’t already.

“Dean, I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“What, a threesome? Yeah, I figured.”

“No, not that.” But Cas couldn’t continue. He felt Dean shift on the bed behind him, and when Dean spoke his breath tickled Cas’s ear.

“Oh. Well, what then?”

“Any of it. All of it. All of the things we’ve done together. You’ve—you’ve been my first for everything, Dean. I’m sorry I never told you.” 

“Huh. I refuse to believe you’ve never kissed anyone before me.”

“Would you please be serious? This is hard for me. I never mentioned it because I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“So why mention it now? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t care. I’m not even really that surprised. Doesn’t change anything for me. Although I hope I wasn’t too rough with you.” The arm Dean had draped around Cas tightened as Dean pulled Cas closer to him; Dean wasn’t hard, but the pressure of his groin against him still had Cas pleasantly aching with memory.

 _Because I want to scare you away_ , Cas’s inner voice whispered. Aloud, he said, “You weren’t too rough. I don’t know why I brought it up; it just seemed necessary. It really doesn’t change anything for you?”

“Not a thing.” Dean tightened his arm further.

 _Damn it,_ Cas thought, and let himself get snuggled.

 

When Castiel woke (alone) the next morning, the sun was already high in the sky. The tree outside Dean’s room was still bare, probably doubtful that spring had well and truly arrived, and its skeletal branches criss-crossed across the ceiling in an exaggerated, slightly blurry pattern of shadow. He lay on his back and watched the minute sway of the shadows as the tree moved in a breeze. As Cas stared up at the ceiling looking at shadows, he tried not to think about how gross he felt. He failed miserably. He ached in unexpected places, which wasn’t so bad on its own. But it just so happened he had a dull headache in the back of his head. His mouth felt fuzzy, too, and he wouldn’t be surprised if his tongue was still blue from that awful drink. 

More troubling was the disappointment that bloomed when he’d realized Dean had left. He didn’t like waking up alone, he decided. Not after an experience like last night, and not when it seemed to mean more to him than his companion. Despite all his intentions otherwise, despite constantly reminding and reprimanding himself, he’d grown attached to Dean. He enjoyed Dean’s smile, and his teasing, his casual affection, how he made Cas’s whole being light up. But was it because it was _Dean,_ or, since Cas had been alone for so long, would anyone have had this effect on him?

In all probability, it was a combination of those factors. And in the end it didn’t really matter, since he was just as screwed in either case.

Cas rolled over. He spied a glass of water on the apple crate that served as Dean’s nightstand. He practically dove for it, and the water sloshed out of the glass and down his chin as he drank greedily. He set the glass down with more care than he’d picked it up, and found his glasses next to it. He slid those on, and the room swung into focus and the tension in his head started to ease. 

He shuffled around the room collecting his clothes—the outfit he’d borrowed from Dean lay in a rumpled pile at the foot of the bed and he refused to acknowledge it—but he couldn’t find his underwear. Maybe they’d gotten under the bed, somehow. He kneeled, and immediately jolted back at the feeling of something cold and damp under his knee.

He prodded at the balled up fabric and recognized the cloth Dean had used to clean them up last night. And since it was his wadded up boxers that unfurled before him, he knew why it’d looked familiar then. He picked it up between his forefinger and thumb. Where the cloth was partially dried out, white strains streaked the dark fabric. He shuddered and flung it toward the clothes basket in the closet. 

One question answered, but it left a new one in its wake: should he go without, or borrow a pair of Dean’s boxers? He chewed his lip. Steeling himself, heart thumping at the audacity of what he was about to do, he slid the drawers of Dean’s dresser open as quickly and as quietly as he could. He found what he was looking for in the second drawer from the top. He pawed through the layers of fitted boxer briefs in a near-panic, certain that Dean would come back and find him going through his things.

Dean had to have a pair of regular old boxers in here _somewhere_. Cas wasn’t sure why the thought of wearing Dean’s boxer briefs, which would surely be very tight on him, both thrilled and repulsed him.

Near the bottom of the drawer, his pinky snagged on something unexpected. He pulled his hand back, but the garment came with. He stared at the silky thing for far too long before he buried it again, hoping he’d got it somewhere near where it was supposed to be. Confused, and chest tight with something else, he listlessly took something from the top and pulled it on. He got dressed quickly. He wasn’t sure if he should—if he even _wanted_ to—wait for Dean to come back from wherever he was.

But just the alternative would be worse. The thought of prowling through a house he didn’t belong to, even if he was only _leaving_ , where anyone could see him or question him, gave him a stomach ache. So Cas sat and stared at his hands, too unsettled to even take out his notebook. 

Fortunately he didn’t have to wait too long before Dean returned. The door creaked open softly, and Dean’s head popped around the edge of the door, and when he made eye contact with Cas he came fully into the room.

“Hey! Sorry, cleaning duty totally blows but you gotta do what you gotta do. That sand pit was the worst, such a bitch to clean up. Dunno why we do the same thing every year. But, eh, guess there’s something to be said for tradition. So, uh, you sleep okay?” Dean came over to the bed. His smile was soft and pleased, like he was actually _happy_ Cas was still here, so Cas tried to return it with a smile of his own. He felt the stretch in his cheeks, the pull of muscles behaving in a way they didn’t want to.

“Yes. I only woke up a few minutes ago. I had to I borrow some clean underwear, since you completely ruined my boxers.”

Dean had to think about that for a moment, but then his face cleared. He laughed somewhat ruefully, but there wasn’t a trace of panic or guilt about Cas pawing through his dresser drawer. “That’s cool, I don’t care. I guess I just grabbed whatever was handy off the floor.”

“Why were they _wet_?”

“Because I, because wet things... they’re better at wiping off spunk?”

“... Please never say that word again.”

Dean grinned.

Now that he was feeling less unsettled, or more to the point, now that Dean had returned and charmed himself back into Cas’s good graces, Cas wanted to stick around. He felt himself warm to Dean just from merely being near him, even though he _knew_ what this was, and even though he knew there was no exclusivity—something that had just been born out by Cas’s discovery of some woman’s panties in Dean’s dresser drawer. And, he supposed, by what had occurred last night. Honestly, Meg was his _friend_. How had he let himself get roped into that situation? Especially knowing that Dean considered him a sure thing… Still, he’d been willing to forget all of these things all within the space of a few moments just so he could pretend for a little while longer. 

 

In a way, Charlie saved him.

Dean told Cas he needed to get an education in ‘cool’, which was ridiculous, but had lead to Dean’s attempt to demonstrate Starcraft by playing against Ash.

Ash was good at Starcraft. In fact, Ash was _very_ good.

So good that all Dean had accomplished was quick, humiliating defeat. Dean was stoic about his losses—in between bouts of cursing and hair pulling—and took Ash’s ribbing surprisingly well, Cas supposed. 

“See, you gotta have enough guys ready to pop out as soon as the last guys die— Shit, there goes a supply depot. Now I gotta build another one, or my guys can’t deploy… Shit, okay, he’s in my base, so, the good thing about the Terrans is you can fly the buildings to a new location. Um. Very slowly. Very, very slowly… _Fuck!_ What a dick, I needed that for my Valkyries… And there goes my Command Center. Well, shit. That’s game.”

It was safe to say as much as Cas currently enjoyed Dean’s attention, the idea of spending time constructing buildings and training units only to have the buildings overrun and the units slaughtered the minute they were trained did not appeal in the least. 

Cas’s stomach was growling, and he desperately needed a shower, and he wanted to leave, but at the same time he didn’t because Dean smelled good and was paying attention to him, and it was very confusing. 

So Charlie’s knock on the door—far too hesitant, and if Cas knew her any better, he would have found that concerning—came at an opportune time. The door opened just a tiny crack.

“Are you guys decent?”

“Uh, yeah, of course we are,” Dean replied. The door opened just enough to admit the top portion of Charlie’s face, and she glared into the room. Her fierce expression only relaxed a little when she saw Dean sitting in his desk chair, and Cas standing over his shoulder.

“We _really_ need to have a talk about actually _using_ the magnet on the door, Winchester.”

The tips of Dean’s ears turned red, but he was grinning.“Oh. Oops?”

“Oops? _Ooops?_ Consider yourself lucky you’re—you’re freaking _loud_ , buddy! Last night I almost walked in on— Okay, well, I don’t know what I almost walked in on, and I don’t want to know. The point is—” Charlie took a breath and came into the room. She dropped a huge duffel bag on the floor and plopped onto the futon. “—the point is, that’s just cruel and unusual. You don’t do that to friends. Unless they’re invited. And _want_ to be invited. I don’t want to see hairy boy butts anytime soon, thank you very much. Anyway, crisis narrowly averted. Now, you ready for the thing, or what?”

“The thing?” Cas repeated stupidly, since Charlie seemed to be including him, if her staring at him was any indication. 

“You didn’t tell him about the thing?”

“Um,” Dean said. 

“Did you forget about the thing?” Charlie almost shrieked. “We’ve been planning this for over a month!”

“It just slipped my mind momentarily,” Dean assured her. He looked at Cas, but his gaze slid away quickly. “Cas doesn’t know about the thing. I thought it’d be…” He trailed off and shrugged.

Dean may not have words, but Cas could supply some: _too much like a relationship_. He didn’t know what ‘the thing’ was, and he didn’t have to. If someone doesn’t invite you to A Thing, it’s because they don’t want to do said Thing with you.

“It’s fine,” Cas said. He suddenly realized how he loomed over Dean, and took a step back. “I need to get going soon, anyway. I’m _beyond_ rank.”

“Shit, why didn’t you say something? Coulda showered here.”

How Dean didn’t notice how strong Cas smelled was beyond him. “I don’t have any clean clothes here, so it seemed pointless.”

“You coulda borrowed some, dumbass,” Dean said, and Cas had to forcibly banish the thought of wearing Dean’s clothes two days in a row because _that’s not what this is, why is Dean being so confusing_.

Cas looked to Charlie, hoping against hope she could intervene, drag Dean out of the room, conk him over the head, _anything_ , and she must have seen something in his face because she threw her pillow at Dean. 

“Ow,” Dean said. “What was that for!”

“Boundaries, dude. You’re making Cas uncomfortable. Now get your shit packed.”

Only Cas hadn’t realized Charlie would say _that_ , and he flushed deep red. She wasn’t wrong, but in dealing with Dean he’d learned to hide his feelings, not come right out with them. If Dean knew even half the things Cas felt… it’d be over in a heartbeat.

Still, Charlie’s unorthodox method was effective.

Dean gave Cas a casual goodbye, punctuated with a careless wave, and Charlie offered to walk Cas down. He supposed she wanted to pump him for information, but he was starting to feel anxious about finding his way out of the house and was happy for the escort regardless of her motivations.

Cas’s last glance around Dean’s room showed Dean stuffing another duffle bag with brightly colored clothes and what looked like chainmail, of all things. The foam sword had been moved from its position by the trunk and lay on the floor between Dean’s duffle and Charlie’s. 

As Charlie led him downstairs, Cas’s curiosity overcame all the other feelings.

“What is the _Thing_ , anyway? Isn’t the closest Renaissance Fair over an hour away?”

Charlie laughed a little ruefully. “Dean will probably kill me if I tell you… He likes to pretend he’s cool instead of the giant nerd he really is. He cares _way_ too much what people think of him.”

“I’m sorry, did you say he’s a nerd?”

“Pfft, Dean is an _incredible_ nerd. He’s not strictly a member, but he comes with me to some of the SFFA—the Science Fiction and Fantasy Association—events. Today is LARPing down at the park by the river. Um, it’s… we dress up and role-play as fantasy medieval characters, basically.”

Cas’s head swam. The ‘SFFA’ sounded a little familiar, but he was still stuck on the idea that Dean—the guy he’d had a crush on ever since he’d seen him with Anna freshman year, who was in a fraternity, who played frisbee, who was buff as hell... _gorgeous_ as hell—was a secret nerd who played medieval dress up with foam weapons and chainmail. It wasn’t even the ‘secret nerd’ part of this revelation that was so stunning; it was that Cas had been utterly fooled, completely taken in by how Dean had presented himself. In some respects it was gratifying to have further evidence that Dean was more complex than he first appeared. It made him seem more human, more relatable. But that was only a small sliver of what Cas felt right now. Doubt welled up in him, weaseled its way into his thoughts. A mean little voice told him, _you’re not enough for Dean. If you were enough, he would have told you. He would have confided in you. But you’re not enough. He doesn’t want you to see him, the_ whole _him_. 

Cas felt sick and dirty and gross, and wanted nothing more to get out of this house immediately. He clattered down the last of the stairs and into the hall and blindly made it outside. In a few steps he was off the porch and out of the looming shade of the building. Sun struck his back. The burning warmth was welcome, comforting. He slowed, took a deep breath, and let oxygen flood through him. His head cleared up a little, but he still felt overwhelmed.

“Cas?” Charlie called after him, tentative, hesitant.

She’d be wondering if it was something she said. In a way it was, but she wasn’t responsible for Cas’s feelings, and it would be rude to ignore her, to let her think his behavior was her fault. He pasted on a smile and turned; she stood in the doorway a few feet away, concern etched into her features. He hadn’t noticed on his way out, but a small, dark-haired guy sat in a chair on the porch, with a cigarette—no, an actual _joint_ —dangling from his fingers and a facial expression that could only be read as ‘deer in headlights _’_.

“Hey,” the guy said. He looked like he wasn’t sure if he should make a run for it or not.

“That’s Andy, he’s cool,” Charlie said.

“I”m cool,” Andy added. He’d lowered the hand holding the joint until it was semi-hidden behind him and the chair.

The situation was so absurd that Cas laughed. It was just—how was this even his life? How was any of this even real?

“Everything’s fine. I just need to return to reality for a little while. I, um, have some errands to do, I mean.” “Okay…” Charlie said. Clearly she didn’t quite understand. He hardly did, either.

“Thank you for showing me out. I hope you and Dean enjoy your LARP thing.”

“See you around some time, Cas?”

“Most likely,” Cas said, and he even meant it a little.

“See ya, buddy,” Andy added, and gave a cheerful little wave with his free hand.


	7. Chapter 7

It had been weeks since Cas had seen Anna, though since those weeks were so far removed from his normal, it felt longer. She had a car—a white Civic with a large spoiler and a loud muffler—and often drove Cas to the 24-hour Wal-Mart on the edge of town when either of them needed basic supplies or dorm food. He’d called her up as soon as he’d cleaned up, desperate to get away from campus even if only for an hour or two.

On the drive over, she chatted about her classes and her journalism project, though Cas could barely hear her over the rumble of her car. Even if he could, he was too concerned with hanging on for dear life as she took corners too fast and zipped around slower drivers. Cas strongly suspected Anna had been into street racing back home, but had never been able to get her to confirm or deny it. 

The edge of town that housed the Wal-Mart was also home to numerous gas stations, fast food places, and a fireworks-and-adult video superstore (Gabe’s favorite). In an unexpected move, Anna pulled to a screeching halt in the Denny’s parking lot. Cas peeled his cramped fingers from the handle above his door and shook them out.

“Why are we here? I need Gatorade and tissue,” Cas said.

Anna gave him a look. “You look hungover. You need grease.”

He was about to object, but his stomach rumbled.

They were shown to a booth, and neither needed long to look over the menu. As soon as the orders were placed Anna gave Cas a searching look.

“So what’s up with you? We haven’t hung out since you bailed on me for movie night, and frankly, you look a little worse for wear.”

“Hungover, remember?” He wasn’t, exactly, but it was a convenient excuse. Except, Anna knew him too well to fall for it.

“Hm. ‘Cuz I ran into Balthazar at the show last night, the one you guys were going to go to together? And he said something interesting.”

_Oh, no,_ Cas thought. As far as he knew, Anna had never been hung up on Dean, and a conversation about him wasn’t likely to cause her distress of any sort. No, the bigger issue was that it might cause _Cas_ distress. He already spent too much time thinking about Dean, but Anna was a good friend… he didn’t precisely _owe_ her anything, but on the other hand, friends liked to know what was going on in other friends’ lives… And perhaps she could provide some perspective, give him some pointers on how to get through this as unscathed as possible.

“Remember freshman year?” Cas said.

“Hah. Barely.” 

“Well, you remember Dean Winchester, right?”

“Yeah, why? Wait. Oh, Cas, do you still have a crush on him? He’s good in bed, but he’s not _worth spending a year pining over him_ good in bed.”

Cas coughed. “Yes, I know he’s good in bed—”

The noise Anna made rather sounded like a dying seagull, and caused several people to look at them. She collected herself and leaned far over the table. 

“You and Dean. _You_ and _Dean_?”

“Why does everyone keep saying it like that,” Cas complained half-heartedly. He knew why, of course. Every time he saw Dean he was reminded why. “And before you ask, I came on to him—not like that… not exactly, anyway, um—stop laughing! He found my writing notebook and made fun of my sex scenes and I asked him to ‘help’ me with them.”

“You did? And he went for it? Huh. Well, good for you.”

“What, no warnings to not get my expectations up? No dire predictions I’ll get my heart broken?”

“Would it do any good? The heart wants what it wants.” Anna tipped her head to the side and gave him a steady appraisal. “And considering the gloomy cloud over your head, I’m guessing you think it might be too late, anyway.”

“No, I think I caught myself in time.” That was a lie, but he had to pretend it was true.“But I need some advice: how do you avoid getting attached to people? And how can I be like that?”

“Cas, it’s not like it’s a transferrable skill. It’s either something you’re capable of or not. I guess that’s not helpful, though, so, um… In my own case, I just want to enjoy what life has to offer. Most of us will be going different places in a few years, and we’re definitely too young for forever. But you’re not me, so what works for me might not work for you. If you’re the type to get attached, I don’t think there’s much you can do except back off.”

Cas nodded glumly. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

Anna laughed. “That good, huh?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve got good friends. We’ll keep you distracted these last couple weeks of classes and soon you’ll be all, ‘Dean who?’ and you’ll be fine.”

It sounded too good to be true, a simple solution to a complex problem, but he had to do something.

Anna was true to her word. Relentlessly so, in fact. That night she dragged him out to the movie showing on the quad. It was some arty film he’d never heard of, and he had to give her credit for coming up with an activity that Dean would never attend, whether or not it’d been a conscious consideration on her part. They settled on blankets near the back of the seating area, where some trees were just starting to blossom. The air smelled sweet, and there was a gentle breeze that created the perfect relaxing atmosphere. He wasn’t surprised to spy Meg in the crowd since she was in film studies and theatre, but he felt a little awkward about last night, so didn’t flag her down. The film was largely forgettable (or he just wasn’t in the mood), but served the purpose of distracting him.

The next day, Sunday, Balthazar dragged him out for a morning run. Cas was so out of shape it was laughable, but again, the activity had the intended result.

Sunday night Balthazar, Gabe, and Anna abducted him from his room (where he was doing some legitimate writing, for a paper) and smuggled him over to the campus bar for an Indie band. It was slightly less forgettable than the movie the other night, and there were actually a few genuine moments of joy.

Anna was right. He did have good friends, and he was incredibly lucky to have them in his life. Silly to put them aside for the sake of a boy, especially a boy that wasn’t even interested in him.

 

Dean had noticed something was off with Cas the morning after the thing with Meg, but hadn’t brought it up because he’d thought Cas would get over it and things would go back to normal. Except they hadn’t, and now he wished he’d asked Cas what was up when he had the chance. Dean didn’t realize how much it was affecting him until one sunny day the week before finals when Charlie showed up at his room and marched him down to the quad. They managed to find a space that wasn’t too lumpy and bumpy, and she spread her blanket out there.

“Sit,” she told him. 

Dean sat.

Instead of interrogating him, however, she pulled two books out of her bag. She tossed one at him, and she started reading the other. He watched her suspiciously for a moment, since this kinda had the feel of an intervention, but once Charlie had her face stuck in a book she was pretty dead to the world. She’d opened the monstrosity to a point near the middle and a crease settled in between her brows as she dove in.

“Good book?” Dean asked. She’d recommended a lot of books to him and had probably mentioned this one before, but he wasn’t really into reading fantasy or sci-fi. Not when they were this thick.

“Shh,” Charlie replied. “Big battle scene. I think the author’s about to kill off one of my favorite characters.”

Dean fell silent. 

Charlie absently plucked a blade of grass, stuck it in her mouth, and immediately spat it out. “Bleh!”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

She snapped the book shut. “Don’t you country bumpkins chew on grass?”

“Uh, that’s hay, and you don’t _eat_ it, you idiot, you just let it hang.”

“Huh. Sounds like a dude thing.”

“Whatever. You can do this with grass, though…” Dean found a nice, fat blade of grass and positioned it between his thumbs and cupped his hands. He brought his mouth up to his hands and blew, and Charlie was startled into laughter at the reedy, honking sound it made.

“Show me,” she demanded. He found another piece of grass and positioned her hands around it and made a rather valiant attempt not to laugh as she tried to figure it out.

After the novelty of the grass whistle wore off, Charlie flopped onto her back and stretched out. She still hadn’t said anything about why she dragged him out here, and it was eating at him.

“So… you just gonna nap, then? Why are we here?”

She shrugged. “You’ve been cooped up in your room moping. I thought you needed a break.”

“ _You_ need a break.”

“Wow, hella wicked comeback, Dean. Now, what’s bothering you?”

It was on the tip of his tongue to deny everything, pretend things were just fine, because it wasn’t like Cas was _avoiding_ him; they still chatted when they ran into each other, and it sounded like Cas’s story was going well. He wasn’t having as many problems with his revisions, though, and he wasn’t asking for Dean for help with it anymore. When they spoke the other day, Cas had said he was almost finished. 

Good for Cas.

But from Dean’s perspective, that wasn’t so great because there went his excuse to be with Cas in the uncomplicated way. The fact was, Dean wasn’t ready to say goodbye to this thing with Cas, but that meant something more complicated. It was obvious from his story that Cas wanted something more than hanging out and having sex. The guy practically fetishized sappy displays of devotion. And yet, despite that, maybe…

Dean swiped his hand down his face lin frustration. Even _considering_ the complicated way was a sure sign that he’d lost it. Maybe over the past few weeks he’d just gotten used to not having to work to get laid— Okay, that was a straight-up lie. He’d never had to _work_ to pick someone up at a party, so it wasn’t that. It hadn’t ever been that, and he might as well admit it to himself. 

He liked the guy.

He really, _really_ liked him, and he had no idea what to do about it.

Dean sighed. “You ever suddenly have a complete personality change, turn into someone you barely know, and wonder if that’s how you were always supposed to be, or if you maybe have a tumor?”

Charlie stared at Dean blankly. 

“That’s a no, then?” Dean sighed again. He tore his blade of grass into threads.

“Is this about Cas?” she said. Dean snorted. “I’m not blind, Dean. I noticed he hasn’t been coming around, and I noticed how bummed you are, even though you try to hide it.”

“You know what? Nevermind. This was a stupid idea. Lets go play Mario Kart or something.”

Charlie glared at him. “Winchester, what’s your damage? You’re practically _begging_ for help. Now, I know you and Cas just had a thing. It was supposed to end eventually, right? You complain all the time how much it bothers you when people think you’re in a relationship, or that you should always want to be in one. I know how much it pisses you off when people just assume you live by their arbitrary rules and then get mad when you don’t, even though you never made any promises. Dude. I _know_ you.”

“You know, it sounds a lot different coming from a chick than it does from me. For you it’s rebellious. When I say I don’t do relationships people look at me like… like I’m just some stereotypical dude, love ‘em and leave ‘em, emotionally stunted and immature. I mean, I have feelings, they just aren’t...” Dean broke off and shrugged. “I dunno, I can’t explain it. I don’t even understand it. Sometimes I think I am just like all those other assholes, just deluded that I’m special or something. Or maybe my parents fucked me up so much that—”

Charlie scoffed. “Let me stop you right there. Difference is, those other assholes are always out evaluating people as prospective partners. Would they bang them or wouldn’t they. From what you’ve said, you evaluate people as friends first, even if you think they’re hot and wanna do the do. And I think you’ve internalized some of that ‘stereotypical dude’ crap, if you’re fine with calling yourself an asshole, you know?”

Dean hummed noncommittally and stared up at the sky. Wispy clouds chased each other across the clear blue expanse. The strain of the silence built and built as he struggled to find the words to describe what was driving him crazy.

“On that topic, I, uh…” Dean cleared his throat.

Charlie sat up a little and put her weight on her elbows. She squinted over at him and chewed her lip thoughtfully.

“Something’s changed?” she prompted.

“So, basically, it took me a long time to get square with the idea I didn’t wanna be with anyone, and finally it starts to make sense, I don’t hate myself for being a cold bastard anymore—well, I mean, mostly—but then, I dunno...”

“Cas came along? And what, now you think you were wrong about yourself? That everyone who said ‘you just haven’t met the right person’ was right and everything you believed about yourself is a lie?”

“Sorta,” Dean said with a shrug. It was still too complicated to put into words. “But not entirely. I like him a lot. He’s weird but funny in this understated way he’s got. And I actually like spending time with him just to hang out, which is a first. But sometimes I get the idea he’s not a hundred percent on board, like he thinks I’m gonna disappear any second and I think that’s my fault. Actually, I know it’s my fault, when we started this thing I was like, _it’s not gonna be a relationship_ and—”

“Dean, relax. You gave him your standard disclaimer so he knew what to expect, and he’s just trying to keep it casual. That’s only fair. And if things are changing—maybe they are, maybe they aren’t—it doesn’t mean everything you believed about yourself is a lie. Maybe it just means you didn’t have the whole story yet. You’re just working off the information available to you as you get it. So now it might be time to have another conversation with him. Go over new expectations. Who knows, maybe he’s willing to meet you somewhere in the middle. It’s worth a shot.”

So Charlie might be right and all (she’s pretty much always right), but how the hell was he supposed to have a conversation about this shit when he didn’t even know what the fuck his new expectations were? When he had absolutely no idea how into him Cas really was, if the guy would even want to renegotiate, especially when Dean was still so uncertain what he really wanted. What he needed was some inside info, and he knew just the person.

“Charles, I need you to do me a huge favor. Don’t say no.”

 

Cas had been doing just fine after his life returned to its ‘pre-Dean’ sense of order and calm. He actually found it a little odd how well he adjusted to Dean’s absence—although he was certain it was mostly because he still saw Dean around campus, and they were still friendly with each other. But he’d avoided engaging in anything but the most superficial of small talk whenever their paths crossed, and had told Dean that the final draft was very nearly complete and that he no longer needed assistance. And if Dean had looked momentarily upset at the news, that was probably nothing more than wishful thinking. 

The whole thing was a lie, of course, but one he had to maintain for his own well-being. He thought he was doing quite well on that task, too, until everything came to a head one fine day in early May. It was warm and sunny and blankets dotted the Quad under the few remaining trees that had stubbornly refused to bloom until the last few weeks of classes. 

On this particularly idyllic day, Cas was on his way toward Commons through the Quad when he spotted a familiar red flash of hair lounging on a blanket. He thought about altering course because Charlie was Dean’s friend first and he was trying to avoid Dean-related things and people, but she had already looked up and seen him and waved excitedly. A long-haired black woman he wasn’t familiar with sat next to her, and they had bags, notebooks, and snacks spread out before them. It looked like they’d been parked there for a while.

When he was close enough, Charlie called out to him. “Cas! Hey, what’s up? Long time no see. Have you met Billie?”

“Hey,” the other woman said. She barely spared him a glance before turning back to her comic book.

“No, I have not. Hello—” Cas started to greet her, but Charlie jumped up and dragged him several feet away from the blanket. 

“So, Cas, inquiring minds must know: what exactly do you do over the summer? You’re local, right?”

“Um, yes, I am,” Cas replied. Charlie had never been overly personal with him before, and in fact they hadn’t spoken more than basic pleasantries since the morning she’d escorted him out of the frat house. She seemed excited—no, she seemed _nervous_ about something. Cas narrowed his eyes at her and answered somewhat warily. “My cousin and I live with my parents over in Rockville.”

“Cool, cool.” Charlie nodded. “Well, ah, I’ll be heading back to Topeka for the summer soon as finals are done and the Science building computer lab closes up.”

“Do you work in the lab?” Cas floundered, anxiety high with uncertainty as to why she’d pulled him aside.

“I do workstudy, yeah. My parents are, um… Let’s just say I live with my aunt, and finances are kinda tough sometimes. So, yeah, scholarships and workstudy. Good thing I’m a genius!” Charlie chuckled, and it didn’t sound forced, only a little self-deprecating. Still, it was worlds different from Cas’s own situation and a flush crept over him. 

“Oh. Well, um, I hope you have a restful summer, then,” he said.

“Thanks, Cas.” Charlie cleared her throat. “So, you know that Dean is local, right?”

Cas blinked, but didn’t answer. Yes, he knew that Dean was local. It had come up in conversation. But what did that have to do with anything? Charlie must be misinformed if she thought that Dean and his friendship was anything but impermanent. When Dean talked about her, he made it sound like Charlie was privy to most of his innermost thoughts and feelings, that she knew the things that were important to him. But if Cas wasn’t important, then it might make sense if Dean never shared exactly how temporary their association was.

Charlie must have just assumed that Cas was less disposable than he really was. 

Cas closed his eyes and swallowed in an effort to keep the lump that was forming from choking him. 

Charlie was still rambling on. “Dean usually works summers at his uncle’s garage. It doesn’t leave him a lot of free time, but it can get pretty lonely in town when all your friends have gone home, so I’m sure he’d love the company, you know, if you’re around too… ”

Something about Charlie’s stream of consciousness chatter snapped the last thread of his good-will, and a shutter dropped down in his brain, effectively separating his mouth from whatever remained of his good sense.

“Charlie, just stop, please. Why are you doing this?”

“Why am I doing what?”

“There’s no point. We have no reason to see each other over the summer, and I hadn’t planned on it at all. After the semester ends I’ll go my way, and Dean will go his way. That’s all it was ever meant to be.”

Charlie frowned. “You guys _are_ friends, right? Why wouldn’t you want to see each other if you both live in the same town and all your other friends are leaving for the summer?”

“I don’t know. We never discussed anything beyond the deadline of my story submission.”

“And that’s what you really want?”

“Of course. That’s exactly what I signed up for.” If he told himself this enough, perhaps he’d even start to believe it, too.

“Well, what if it _wasn’t_ exactly what you signed up for? Sometimes people change, Cas.”

“Uh, well, I believe Dean was very specific in that he would not change. It was in his rules, and I agreed to them.”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “No, I get that, Cas. I helped him come up with his stupid rules. I know how they work. That’s not what I’m asking. What I mean is, what if the rules were revised, or say, expanded, even? What if… you could have _more_?”

Cas tilted his head and watched Charlie, but she seemed sincere enough. Still, he considered her words carefully, looking for the trap. 

“More what, exactly? What Dean and I have is fine for what it is, but that’s _all_ it is. We have fun together, the end. And honestly, I haven’t gotten any indication from Dean that he wants or is even capable of _more_ , whatever that means to you.” Charlie’s eyes widened and moved to a point beyond Cas’s shoulder, but Cas had finally found the words he’d been seeking and couldn’t stop now. “And we both know Dean’s not relationship material. I mean, he propositioned me for a _threesome_. That’s not exactly behavior that screams ‘ready for commitment’, is it?”

In the backwards and nonsensical manner of this entire affair, Charlie’s face crumpled briefly as if she’d been the one wronged. But she wasn’t looking at him… 

Cas turned around.

Not two feet behind him stood Dean.

Cas’s eyes moved to the blanket and now he noticed the _three_ bags spread out, a third set of books, and even a little butt depression where the absent third person had been sitting until recently.

So Dean had clearly heard the conversation between him and Charlie. Cas mentally reviewed the things he’d said, unsure what triggered this response in Dean. He’d known Dean didn’t want a romantic relationship from the start; there’d been a finite limit on their association. He had simply reiterated those facts. But despite the belief he was innocent of wrongdoing, Cas couldn’t deny he felt like a stone dropped into his stomach and its weight pressed him inexorably downward.

Wanting to sink into the ground suddenly became very relatable.

Dean still stared at him, his jaw clenched tight and his hands balled up into fists at his side. When he spoke, his voice was deep and thick with emotion held tightly in check. “So you don’t think I’m good enough to be anything but a fuck buddy, huh? And, what, the fact that I got off on you being with someone else means I’m incapable of having feelings for you? Sex and love don’t have to be mutually exclusive. Shoulda figured you’d freak out about that. Anyway, whatever. So now that you got what you wanted with your story you’re just gonna go fuck off into the sunset, is that right?”

Cas could almost convince himself that Dean was angry. An irrationally angry Dean was something he’d understand, something he could deal with and someone he could probably get over.

But no, Dean wasn’t angry. Not entirely. Dean also looked like he’d been betrayed.

Cas still didn’t fully understand, but the weight in his belly pulled Cas further down as he floundered for a lifeline. “I don’t… Why are you upset? I thought this was what you wanted. You said, ‘this is not a relationship. This will never be a relationship.’ So it wasn’t a relationship.”

“People are allowed to change their minds about things, you ass,” Dean bit out.

The idea that Dean had changed his mind about his rules because he _had feelings_ but hadn’t actually thought to bring it up ping-ponged around in Cas’s mind for either a few seconds or a lifetime. Was it infuriating, or heart-breaking? Perhaps both, mixed with obnoxiously bad timing.

“This is the first I’m hearing about any minds being changed. Maybe before you just decided you should have checked in with me to see what _I_ wanted. How _I_ felt. And not sent your friend to do your dirty work, by the way!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t make that mistake again!” Dean’s voice got progressively louder.

“Neither will I!” Cas nearly shouted back, and he turned on his heel.

Dean’s hard _fuck you, Cas!_ followed him, whispered in his ear, wormed its way into his brain and wove itself into his soul as his feet moved him further away from the biggest mistake he’d ever made, and he walked himself right out of Dean’s life.

Well. At least Dean was angry, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not sorry.


	8. Chapter 8

Cas’s family lived in a little subdivision that technically belonged to the village one over from the town the college was in, just a few miles down a little country highway. It was a fairly well-to-do area, a network of meandering ‘No Outlet’ streets where the houses were tucked far back from the road and hidden from view by impressive gardens and walls and security gates and the occasional Doberman.

Just on the edge of this little subdivision sat a corner store where Cas had managed to secure a job for the summer. The Novak family was well enough off that Cas didn’t need to work, but writing alone wasn’t doing the trick of keeping his mind occupied. However, the Gas ‘N’ Sip was too far from the main thoroughfares to have much in the way of business outside the thirty or so families that lived in the immediate vicinity, and after a few weeks of employment, Cas had come to realize that the work was mind-numbing, but in a way that gave him far too much time to think rather than relieve him of the exercise. 

It was the exact opposite of what he’d wanted, and he’d be tempted to leave if only Nora hadn’t been so nice about giving him a job.

So Cas stayed put and sold snacks and sodas to the area teenagers, and water and sandwiches to the landscapers and nannies. When he wasn’t helping customers, he restocked shelves, mopped floors, and wiped down counters. When he wasn’t doing _that_ , he doodled and wrote bad poetry in the notebook he always brought with him while listening to OK Computer (probably the world’s most depressing album, and thus perfectly suited to his mood) on the little CD player.

Cas’s poetry—which he vowed to destroy before long, as he was all too aware it was not his forté—had started out lovelorn and mopey but gradually moved along the spectrum to angry. The more time he had to think about the whole situation, the more it rankled Dean had sent Charlie to feel him out about a relationship without even bringing the subject up himself. It was also infuriating that Dean was okay with the idea of them being together but had let Cas think otherwise for _weeks_. A good relationship requires parameters and boundaries, and those just don’t happen out of thin air. They have to be discussed, and Cas is certain they never had that discussion or any conversation even remotely approaching the topic of a romantic relationship.

Cas doodled a figure that was supposed to be Dean and made sure that the chin resembled a giant butt. Then he added stupid fat lips and stupid freckles and stupid long lashes on eyes that looked off in different directions before sighing at the monstrosity. 

He should just stick to poetry.

The bell above the door jingled. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a dark head of hair duck inside. He didn’t even need to look up to know who it was.

“Hello, Meg,” Cas said, pencil tracing over Dean’s fat lips, perfecting the puffy pout that he frequently imagined on Dean’s stupid face. She murmured a distracted reply as she looked over the kitschy items on display near the door, like she did every time.

Meg had discovered him his first week on the job, and subsequently came to bother him on her way to or from the part-time nanny position for which she was completely unqualified, both in temperament and experience. They’d sometimes bicker about TV shows (Meg) versus books (Cas), and he often listened to her gossip about people on campus he probably was supposed to know, including some guy that he gathered Meg liked but had pissed off. But mostly he’d blather about Dean. It was occasionally nice to have someone listen to you gripe about failed romantic entanglements.

Today, however, she seemed fidgety: she’d pick up one of the little knick knacks that littered the window display, turn it about in her hands restlessly, then plop it back down only to pick up the next a moment later. This went on for several minutes without her further acknowledging his presence.

“What’s up with you?” he asked, curiosity finally getting the better of him. 

Meg sent him a slanted, sideways look that was a peculiar combination of exasperated and sultry. _We had sex!_ flashed through Cas’s mind, and he felt himself blush at the memory. Meg, however, merely regarded him evenly. Several seconds passed before she shook herself out of it and looked away from him, but her glance fell onto his notebook.

“Nothing, Clarence. Nothing at all. Still hung up on Dean, I take it?”

Cas groaned and tossed his pencil down on the countertop. It ricocheted away from the notebook and bounced on the floor before rolling a little ways down one the aisles. 

“It just makes me so mad! What right did he have to just decide on his own?”

“Maybe he didn’t really know what he felt, and didn’t know how to bring it up,” she replied, as if this wasn’t the same exchange they had a couple of times a week. “Or, just a stab in the dark, here, maybe he was worried you’d react badly.”

“I reacted exactly the same way anyone in my position would have! We had exactly one conversation that could even be considered reasonably close to that topic, and that was the one where he said _not a relationship_. Nothing he ever said—or did!—even remotely indicated that he thought we might ever be together. And you know what? He never hugged or kissed me around other people, never held my hand—there was nothing like that! Besides the sex, it was like I wasn’t any different from any of his other friends. All we did was hang out with mutual friends, eat at Commons, fuck around—” He dug his hands through his hair, tugged at the strands in large clumps. “None of that was _dating_. And the... the _thing_ , with the three of us?” He waved his hand at Meg, and her eyebrow jumped high on her forehead. “That’s not normal for people who want to be together! It’s just not!”

He’d never brought up the threesome in the midst of a rant to her, and realized he had no idea how she’d take it. Meg’s eyes widened just the smallest amount before narrowing into slits. Her lips crimped together. Cas blinked. Not a good reaction, then.

“It is normal for some people, Cas.”

Heedless, he plowed ahead. “How can that be love? Love is supposed to be…” he paused to frown, and stared at his notebook for inspiration. The childish cartoon face mocked him. “Love is wild and possessive and all-encompassing. You meet that one person, and you’re just swept up off your feet, and all you want is them. Not to see them with someone else, not to see them for a few hours every couple of days.”

Meg was silent for a long time, but he didn’t dare look up at her. Finally, she spoke, her voice low and harsh.

“How _dare_ you judge how other people love? How dare _you_ decide how other people should live their lives. You, with your… your stupid, unhealthy, idealistic notions of romance and… and courtship. Tell me what’s so great about obsession, or jealousy, or possessiveness, of monopolizing a partner’s time and friendships. What’s so fucking fantastic about all of that? You’re my friend, Cas, and I care about you very, _very_ much, but you need to pull your head out of your ass, or you’re just as bad as all the religious nuts who preach against ‘the gays’ down at the quad. They think there’s only one way to love, too.”

Her words stung, but she wasn’t done yet.

“Besides, you were pretty into it. You were pretty into _me_ while we were doing it. Doesn’t that make you a hypocrite?”

“No, it does not, because I never claimed to be in a relationship, or in love!”

She snorted inelegantly. “Yeah, okay. Sure. Even if that made sense, it’s a complete lie. You’re totally head-over-heels for him. You have been for a while.”

“I am _not_.” The words were very nearly whispered, since he was so close to tears he could barely talk.

Her face softened slightly as she watched him try not to crumple, and she grabbed his shoulder to steady him. Her grip was almost painful.

“Yeah, you are. I get that you were trying to hide it, I really, really do. You thought you had to hold on to him with whatever it took, you dumbass. And, look, I understand why you’re mad, but try to see it from his perspective, too. You get used to being a particular way, and then suddenly things aren’t the same as they used to be and you figure out you might want to be with someone in a way you never wanted to be with someone before. It’s a weird thing to go through, Cas. Just trust me on that. Although—” Meg laughed wryly “—he totally fucked it up by not talking to you himself.”

Cas nodded agreement, not trusting himself to speak. 

“Anyway,” Meg continued. “You’re mad, but you also miss him. Sure you don’t want to give it another go, work your shit out?”

Cas sniffled, cleared his throat. “No, it’s far too late. He told me to go fuck myself, basically.”

Meg shrugged. “That sucks, I guess. But maybe you learn something from this clusterfuck and apply it to your next relationship.”

“Yes. I believe the lesson is ‘don’t try to date people who think dating is pointless’.”

Meg sighed and rolled her eyes. She was still angry with him, something that ran much deeper than his dismissal of Dean’s strange approach toward relationships, and when she left, he wondered if they’d ever really still be _friends_ after this. 

Cas sat at the register for a long time after that, turning her words around and around in his head, trying to make sense of them. Trying to make sense of anything. Prominent in his thoughts was a throwaway comment Dean had made about his own parents’ marriage, and how it was too passionate. 

 

He cornered his mother Rachel in the mudroom later that evening. She was covered in dirt and clippings, having spent the better portion of her day off tending to the garden as she usually did. It was her refuge, one he didn’t begrudge her.

“Castiel! I didn’t realize you were home already. How was your job?”

He ignored the question—both she and Naomi thought his employment was amusing, a passing phase—and steeled himself for a conversation that he really did not want to have, but one that was inevitable given the tongue-lashing he’d gotten from Meg earlier.

“Were you and Naomi ever in love? Really in love? All-encompassing, passionate love?”

Rachel blinked up at him, stopped short in the midst of prying off a dirt-caked shoe.

“What on earth, Castiel?”

He glared at her, lips set into a mulish, stubborn line.

“Very well, let’s have a chat. Let me get cleaned up. I’ll meet you in the study.”

The study had a large old wingback chair. As a child, Cas would turn it toward the window and curl up tight in it with the family kitten clinging to his lap when he wanted to hide from the loneliness. He could stare out into the garden and pretend that people were looking for him but that they couldn’t find him because of his hiding spot. Today, he left it facing the room. Ebenezer stretched out on his lap to complete the picture (now elderly, yet still with his claws stuck in Cas’s legs, a less fond part of the memory).

A knock on the door announced his mother. Rachel had changed into her usual casual outfit, a tailored shirt and slacks, and brought a pitcher of lemonade with her. In typical Novak fashion it was overdone, the pitcher balanced neatly upon a tray with two glasses filled with ice cubes. The pitcher itself was crystal, and the sunlight that filtered into the study glinted off of it, blinding him momentarily. Slices of fresh lemon infused the mixture, and a sprig of something—probably mint—curled along the rim of the pitcher. She set the tray down on the coffee table and poured out the two glasses before seating herself on the settee. He may have rolled his eyes a little, but Cas still accepted his drink with murmured thanks. 

“Now, Castiel. What brought this on?”

He took a sip from his glass—it _was_ very refreshing—and then took a deep breath.

“I was just curious. For most of my childhood, I was under the impression that you and Naomi didn’t love each other, and someone said something to me today that made me wonder if that impression was incorrect.”

“You thought we didn’t love each other?” Her face remained as placid as always.

“It’s not like you ever fought, not that I can remember, but I always thought that the two of you were…” He paused to choose his words. “That you lived very separate lives. I didn’t think that was how a couple in love would live. How could you be in love and not want to spend all your time together, or even do _anything_ together? How could you not have shared interests, or mutual friends? How could you stand not touching each other, or even sleeping in the same room? Most of the time, I thought you never even liked each other!”

Rachel sat back at the slew of questions, finally showing some emotion in the crease on her forehead, even though she was clearly struggling against it.

“Well, Castiel, it’s true that we aren’t as intimate as I suppose many couples are. Perhaps it’s not a passionate love that we share, but we do have a strong regard for each other, a successful shared life, and a mutual interest that we both care deeply about: you.”

Cas scoffed.

Rachel misunderstood. “I don’t think either of us is the type to feel the kind of love that you seem to expect for us, Castiel.”

“But what about the books? All those romance novels that you used to read?”

“The _what?_ Oh! Those silly things? My friend Hester used to pass those along to me when she had finished them. I never had a taste for them, Castiel, but I never knew how to refuse her. I wasn’t aware you even knew of their existence. I probably should have just thrown them out, to be honest.”

So… the way he understood his entire childhood had been a complete lie.

Rachel misinterpreted his crumpling face, and continued: “We still care about you very much, Castiel, you must know that.”

“Are you serious? The way I grew up—you were both so detached, so off in your own worlds that I just… I felt unwanted, like an afterthought. A _mutual interest_ , you might say. Something to be brought out and displayed at parties, led around like a dancing bear while you sat on opposite sides of the room with your own friends.”

Rachel reared back. “What on earth has gotten into you? You loved to play the piano, and were always very excited to read your poetry at our gatherings!” 

“My poetry sucked, and you know it! I can’t—” He fell silent as he struggled to put his roiling thoughts into words. He’d spent his entire childhood thinking that Rachel was unhappy with the coolness between her and Naomi, and that she used the romance novels to escape that unhappiness, only to find out that she was far more like Naomi than he’d ever imagined; that in an effort to sympathize with his unhappy mother and to escape his own unhappiness he’d devoured book after book after book and probably warped himself so much in the process he wasn’t even able to have realistic expectations. 

“Oh my God, I’m so screwed,” he muttered as he jumped up. In doing so, he dislodged the cat, who disappeared under the chair and swiped at his ankles. 

“Language, Castiel!” Rachel glared at him. She had her claws out, too. “I’m not sure I like how you’ve changed since attending this school.”

Cas ignored her and stalked from the room. He may have been wrong about how Rachel and Naomi felt about their marriage, but he wasn’t wrong about how they raised him, how utterly alone he had been, separated from his peers and cut off from any sort of parental warmth. Even if he hadn’t latched onto the romance novels, he’d probably still have craved any sort of warmth and affection. He supposed he should be extremely thankful for Gabe’s entrance into his life, even if he’d been an annoyance more than a friend. 

Speaking of… he hadn’t seen Gabe for days.

He abruptly changed direction and came to a stop in front of Gabe’s door. Muffled music came from within, and Cas knocked before he could talk himself out of it.

 

“Are you sure about this, Gabe?”

“Booze is cheaper on this side of the state line.”

Cas sighed. The door of Gabe’s rusty car made an embarrassingly loud squeal as he thrust it open. Or would have been embarrassing, had there been anyone in the parking lot to hear it. Apparently dinner time on a weeknight was slow for the alcohol business, even in a hick town like this.

Cas watched Gabe trot up to the Liq-R-Mart, but he himself hung back by the car. Maybe he should have just stayed home. Maybe he shouldn’t try to be friends with his cousin-slash-brother, also known as the worst person in the world. But he needed _someone_ right now; Meg may not be his friend any longer, Anna and Balthazar were from out of state, and both had gone home for the summer. He certainly had no claim on Dean’s friends, despite how fond he was of Charlie. She was lost to him now, so Gabe it was.

He found Gabe waiting for him inside with a cart, and as soon as Cas laid hands on it, Gabe disappeared into the maze-like interior. Cas trundled after him, but couldn’t seem to catch up.

“Where did you go?” Cas called out. How typical of Gabe to abandon him so quickly.

“Get the cart over here, idiot!” Gabe called out from the next aisle over. Or two aisles over; this place was huge. Why was it necessary to have this many types of vodka? And why the hell did Gabe need a _cart_ , was he planning on killing himself with booze? Cas swung the cart—admittedly, it was at least a small cart—around the corner that he thought would lead to Gabe and rammed it smack into someone’s rear.

“Ow, shit!” that someone said, and Cas froze. He’d recognize that voice anywhere. It’d been playing on repeat in his head for weeks, stuck on the chorus of _fuck you, Cas!_ So, yes, of course, it was Dean.

Dean turned around, and the woman standing next to him turned as well. Cas had one panicked moment to take in her appearance (gorgeous, soft brown eyes, long brown hair, _nothing like him_ ), instantly felt a sharp pain somewhere behind his ribs, and then realized Dean was speaking to him.

“How ya doin’, Cas?”

Correction: Dean was speaking to him as if there had never been anything between them, as if they were just old friends catching up with one another. He looked calm and friendly and gorgeous and—and _happy_. Well, fuck that. As if Cas could simply be _friends_ with the person he was still hopelessly in love with!

“You moved on fast, I see.” The words were out of Cas’s mouth before he realized it, and for the second time in a month he watched Dean close up right in front of him, like a flower pulling its petals in at night.

“Yeah, well, it’s not moving on too fast if there’s nothin’ to move on _from_.” Dean sneered at him and tugged the woman’s shoulder as they moved off. In his other hand, Dean clutched a bottle of decent-looking wine.

Gabriel chose that moment to come around the corner with a bottle of Wild Turkey, a perfect metaphor for Cas’s miserable existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... still not sorry :) :) :)


	9. Chapter 9

Dean steered Lisa up toward the register at record speed and hoped it wasn’t obvious, but that hope died when she tipped her head up at him, naked curiosity in her gaze. He relaxed the tight grip he had on her shoulder and instead gave a gentle squeeze in apology.

“Friend of yours?”

“Used to think so.”

“Too bad. He’s kinda cute,” she replied. He darted a quick glance at her profile, but he didn’t see anything other than curiosity and concern. 

She slid the wine out of his fingers and walked up to the register while he dawdled at the snack display, not wanting to be carded. 

Besides, there was something he wanted to take care of. 

He turned abruptly, startling the man several paces behind him.

“You following me now?”

Cas glared at him. “It’s not like we’re just going to walk out without paying, Dean, and there’s only one cashier.”

God, he always managed to sound so fucking _superior_ all the time. Then Cas’s use of ‘we’ registered, and he noticed Gabe pawing through a small shelf of candy and the shopping cart parked next to him, piled with shitty alcohol. Dean snorted.

“You guys are gonna be hurtin’ tomorrow.”

Cas followed Dean’s eyes and glowered.

“In fact, I hope you have the mother of all hangovers. _And_ the runs. It’s nothing less than you deserve.”

Cas gasped, the melodramatic little shit. Okay, maybe it was a little harsh, especially considering he was hanging out with _Gabe_ ; that’s gotta be a last resort. But the last time they’d talked—fuck, it couldn’t even be considered talking, it was Cas shooting his mouth off to Charlie and then he and Cas had just started yelling at each other—Cas had just fucking _left_ like he didn’t even care that he’d just destroyed everything Dean’d been feeling good about that last part of the semester. Yeah, so fuck him and fuck the horse he rode in on. The dick deserved it. 

“Dean, we’re all set…” Lisa tentatively broke in as she came up next to him. Despite her warning, he almost jumped out of his skin he was so focused on being angry with Cas.

In fact, it was time he gave Cas a taste of his own medicine. Dean draped his arm around Lisa’s shoulder and gave her a little peck on the temple. If she was surprised by the display, she didn’t let on. She’d always been pretty quick. Cas, however, watched with eagle eyes. Dean smiled (sweetly, even) and slipped his arm from Lisa’s shoulder to settle around her waist. Cas watched that, too, and his frown only deepened.

Good. 

Gabe coasted over on his cart of crappy booze, hanging off the back like a five-year-old. The cart clipped Cas’s ankle—Cas barely flinched—and came to an abrupt stop.

“Hi, Dean-o! How’s it hangin’?” Gabe said, then his eyes darted between Cas and Dean, then flicked over to Lisa. “Wow, this isn’t awkward at all, is it?”

_Fuck off and die_ was the choice phrase floating through Dean’s mind, but he schooled his face and smiled wide.

“No idea what you’re talking about, Gabey. You two enjoy your evening. I know _I_ will.”

Dean: 1. Cas: big, fat 0. 

 

The great thing about Lisa was that she was so damn understanding. He knew she wasn’t going to pester him for details as soon as they left the store. She was patient, and kind, and if he let himself go there, sexy as hell, too. She didn’t think the fact that he also liked dudes made him less of a man or some bullshit like that. So really, she was grade-A, fan-fucking-tastic. Unlike some people, who were selfish, stuck-up, snooty dickbags. Some people named Cas. So, yeah. Looks like things were finally looking up for—

A small, smooth-skinned hand slid into his hand and gripped him tight. 

Dean swallowed. His fingers twitched with tension and his palms were sweaty, and he _knew_ it was pointless but still he hoped Lisa didn’t notice. _Crap, crap, crap_. He should have known that being all cuddly with her in the store (he hates that he gave into his childish desire to try and hurt Cas, even if the dick deserved it) would create more problems. But it was only twenty or so feet to the car. He could do this. They’d get in the car, pull out of the parking lot, and put the whole incident of running into Cas in Baby’s taillights.

It’s fine, he told himself as he dropped into the driver’s seat. He gave Lisa a small smile, one she returned without hesitation. See, everything’s fine.

When they pulled up outside Lisa’s rental, Dean turned the car off and stared sightlessly out the windshield while the engine ticked as it cooled. 

“Dean,” Lisa said after a few moments. “Did you still want to do movie night? We can reschedule.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah. Sorry. Hadn’t expected to run into— Um. Nevermind. It’s a long story and I don’t really feel like getting into it.” Lisa shrugged and popped her door open. “Okay. But I take it chick flicks are off the table for the night?”

“I seriously need to watch some things explode,” Dean said. He widened his eyes and pouted, and Lisa rolled her eyes.

“You really don’t need to resort to that, you know. I like explosions as much as the next girl. We could watch some James Bond.” She grabbed the shopping bag out from the back seat and tucked her bottle of wine up under her arm as she tried to get her keys out of her bag.

“Pfft, you just want to ogle Timothy Dalton.” Dean picked up the other bag. 

“Hah, and you don’t?”

“Nah, I’m definitely a Sean Connery guy. Want me to get the door?”

Lisa agreed and handed the keys over, and Dean hustled over to reach it first. It opened onto a narrow staircase which required full concentration when your arms were full of things that break easily, and they made their way up in silence. Once the groceries were put away and Lisa had her glass of wine and Dean a beer, the bowl of popcorn (only slightly burnt) sat on Dean’s lap, and the opening credits of License to Kill had started to roll, Lisa scooted closer to Dean on the couch.

“Don’t let me forget to get the cooler and the tent out of storage tomorrow,” she said. “This is going to be so much fun, I haven’t been camping in forever.”

“Me neither,” Dean said.

He probably wasn’t as excited as he should have been. Instead, he felt a startling sense of inevitability settle over him as the movie played. He wasn’t sure he minded that much; this was where his choices led him, and this was what he’d wanted: distraction. Or as close as he could get to it, in any case. Was it so bad to want that, if he couldn’t have what he really wanted? He hadn’t been planning on getting together with Lisa again, but after Cas’s latest rejection… Maybe he _should_ consider it. Lisa was cool and all—super understanding of his hangups—and he knew from past experience that she was actually willing to work with what he could offer. It almost wouldn’t matter that this was simply an interlude, a blip in both their lives before he got restless and felt smothered, and she would start to look for someone invested in settling down.

Inevitably, his thoughts turned to Cas. With Cas he’d wished he could be someone else. With Cas, he’d actually wanted to be someone who could fall in love and give him the romance he wanted. With Cas—Dean’s chest ached and his hand gripped the sofa arm so tight it creaked under the pressure, but he couldn’t shut off the flood of feelings: anger at himself, anger at Cas for fucking walking away like he had. But confusion was high on the list, too.

Dean wasn’t an idiot. He knew he was kinda _off_. He knew by now that most people thought it was normal to dedicate their adult life to finding the one person that completed them, and then spend the rest of their lives devoted to that one person. It didn’t make sense to him—the idea kinda wigged him out—but after his first few disastrous attempts at dating in high school, he’d learned to keep his trap shut about it and either just play along until he got dumped or make sure _no strings_ was clear from the get-go. Eventually, he stopped trying to play along at all.

Of course, his parents noticed he didn’t date and thought something was wrong with him. Their words. He was depressed, or maybe he was gay and too terrified to come out, or he’d been bad-touched by the gym teacher. The only good thing to come of that astronomically awkward conversation was the realization that his parents weren’t homophobic douchebags, although Dad _was_ a little weird at first. But if he had his choice, they would have just left him alone. As it was, they made it clear they’d do their best to fix him. Because, as they liked to tell him, finding that special someone would change his life. It’d be the best thing that ever happened to him, like it had been for them. 

Which was a whole load of bullshit, by the way. Mom and Dad liked to say they loved each other, but what they had wasn’t love. If they weren’t fighting over money or Dad’s inability to provide, or stupid shit like someone forgot to get milk or fill up the car, then either Dad was couch surfing at Bobby’s, or Mom took off to stay with her parents for a few days with Dean and Sam in tow.

Since his parents were so fucking blissful together he wasn’t sure what they thought he was missing out on. 

Oh, he hated that he was like this. He hated that he was disappointing his parents, sure, and yes he could appreciate the irony in recognizing they were full of shit but not being able to let go of living up to their expectations… But more than that, he hated that he still wanted things he could only get from dating someone. He still wanted someone to spend time with, someone to cuddle when he felt like it, someone he could have fantastic sex with, and someone who _got_ him and understood him and liked him even though he didn’t want to sign over his life.

So, yeah, he was confused along with all the other crap. He didn’t know why he’d agreed to _a thing_ with Cas. Maybe it was loneliness and desperation. Maybe it was because it was the only way he could have what he wanted, even though it was keeping Cas from what _he_ wanted. 

Maybe it was just _Cas_. Dean had been reading his story after he found the notebook, and other than the cheesy, overly romantic sex scenes, he’d kinda liked it. And then Cas had stormed into the library, flustered and embarrassed but adorably defensive about his baby, and something had just clicked in Dean’s head. _This could work_ , he’d thought. Only it was all a lie. It didn’t work. It failed spectacularly, just like everything else in his life.

Running into Cas at the liquor store had been soul-crushing. He’d honestly missed the guy, and had briefly hoped that if nothing else, they could still try the friends thing. Because they _had_ been friends. He knew that much was true; it had to be, or his understanding of the world was just broken. Then Cas had gone and said what he’d said, and, well, that was that. Dean couldn’t bear the idea that Cas didn’t even want him in his life any more, just like everyone else in his life, so it was best to put all that away, focus on the present.

And his present was right here.

 

Cas and Gabe may have lived together for half of their lives, but they weren’t close. That was the primary reason Cas hadn’t told Gabe what had happened between him and Dean, not because he was feeling guilty about his own behavior. It wasn’t even until Meg turned on him that the thought occurred to Castiel that maybe Gabe wouldn’t take his side, either. 

Or so he told himself during the tense ride back home. Cas was no longer entirely sure he hadn’t just rationalized everything that happened to suit his ego.

Regardless, Gabe had clearly figured something was up. He kept casting these little looks over at Cas to the point where Cas finally snapped and told his cousin to keep his eyes on the road.

Gabe responded by abruptly swinging off their route and onto a residential side street.

“What are you doing? Where are we going?” Cas asked petulantly. He just wanted to be home and alone in his room—alcohol or no alcohol, but definitely no Gabriel—because what he really needed right now was a good, long, mope. 

His cousin made no reply. Gabe’s face was set in a determined grimace as he drove along the dark streets. There were no street lamps on this side of the state line, because they weren’t really in a city. The car’s headlights soaked up the gloom, and one time flashed against the eyes of a raccoon. Castiel turned to watch it scurry back into the brush in the ditch.

“If you’re bringing me out here to kill me, you could have saved yourself the trouble and just buried me under one of Rachel’s perennial beds,” Castiel joked. 

Gabe’s silence did nothing to reassure him. But the car slowed as they approached an area with streetlamps, and Castiel soon realized Gabe had taken a back road to the park near where they’d gone to high school. He had come here many times looking for Gabe on Friday nights with the aim to drag his cousin home before Rachel and Naomi noticed he was out drinking. Gabe had run with a bad crowd those days, and Cas had never enjoyed coming here and exposing himself to their notice. Somehow, Gabe had gotten his shit together by his senior year, and Castiel hadn’t had to make any more trips out here. Still, the place was easily recognizable and he wasn’t entirely comfortable. It was dark, and the park was surely closed by now.

Gabe parked under a low-hanging tree that kept the car relatively hidden and out of the light. He grabbed one of the bags from the back seat and the two of them tromped through the unmown grass toward the children’s jungle gym area, Cas somewhat reluctantly. But Gabe had the keys, and they were far enough away from home that Cas wouldn’t want to walk if he didn’t have to. When he caught up to Gabe, his cousin had climbed up to the wooden platform at the top of the slide. He gestured impatiently for Cas to climb up next to him, so Cas did, rather clumsily. 

Gabe rustled around in the paper bag and produced a bottle of some clear blue liquor. 

“Drink, then spill,” Gabe said. “The story, not the alcohol. That stuff’s expensive.”

It was on the tip of Cas’s tongue to refuse, but suddenly the image of Dean with his arm around that woman flashed through his mind and he grabbed the bottle. He took a quick swig. The drink was sweet, but not overly so, and he took another, more moderate taste, then handled the bottle back. 

Gabe took a small pull from the bottle and smacked his lips. “Would be better with lemonade, but not bad. Not bad.”

Gabe passed the bottle back and they lapsed into silence.

“I don’t know what you want to hear,” Cas said after the weight of it got to be too much to ignore. He hadn’t had any dinner, and the liquor started to hit him immediately. It buzzed through his veins, and he felt fuzziness encroaching on his mental faculties. Gabe would be able to weasel his deepest, darkest secrets out too easily, if he wanted.

Gabe hummed. “Well, it’s pretty obvious that you and Dean-o had a falling out sometime in the past few weeks. Admit it, you’ve been in a shitty mood since May. You’ve been cultivating this injured aura all summer—’poor me, boo hoo ’—so I originally thought you got dumped and was gonna leave well enough alone. But then something Dean said got me thinking, and I’m thinking there’s maybe more to this story than I assumed.”

“There are definitely two sides to this story,” Cas agreed grimly. He wasn’t so sure about trusting Gabe with his secrets and his failings, but on the other hand, Gabe wasn’t so bad these days. Oh, he was still annoying and frustrating, but far less harmful than he used to be. Cas sighed. “Fine, I’ll ‘spill.’”

Cas tried to give as few details as possible, but before he realized it, the whole sordid mess came spewing out in between sips of the blue liquor. He skipped over the threesome, though, knowing he’d never hear the end of it. When he got to the part where he destroyed all his chances at happiness, he choked up and faltered to a stop, and Gabe surprised him by giving him a one-armed sideways hug. It was a strange feeling for someone who grew up in such a distant, cold household, and Cas struggled with the urge to pull away from the gesture. 

Fortunately, it was fairly obvious that Gabe was a little uncomfortable with it as well. He patted Cas awkwardly on the shoulder, then retracted his arm kind of robotically. Castiel blurted out the important bit, the monumental cockup in front of Charlie and Dean, eager to get it out and over with.

Gabe was quiet for a few minutes, an impressive feat. Finally, he made a thoughtful sound and tried to summarize.

“So, let me get this straight. You thought Dean was criticizing your porn, so you asked him for help acting out said porn? Huh. I’m actually a little impressed you had the balls. But anyway, he said no dating, and you agreed, but you fell for him, and then he changed his mind about the dating… yet you’re not together.”

“Because I thought it was a joke, or a trick! He’d never dated anyone, so why the hell would he want to start with me?” Castiel’s speech slurred and he stumbled over his words. Drinking on an empty stomach had not been a good idea. “I fucked it up, Gabe. I fucked it all up.”

“Yes, so you’ve said. Repeatedly,” Gabe said.

“I would’ve been perfectly happy to date him if I thought he wouldn’t get tired of me, if I was good enough to hold his attention! But the one conversation we had, he made it clear— _no dating._ An’ there were a lot of things that—” Meg’s scathing setdown came to mind and Cas amended what he was about to say “—that I thought meant he wasn’t into me that _maybe_ I misunderstood, and I don’t know how to change how I feel about those things. So I fucked it up and I don’t know what to do, and it’s too late anyway because did you _see_ her?” 

Cas dropped his head into his hands and hiccoughed. Gabe patted his back awkwardly. 

“Yeah, I saw her. Not gonna lie, she looks like tough competition. Now, ordinarily, I’d say write the whole thing off; you’re young, you’ll find someone who matches your expectations someday, yadda yadda…”

“But I don’t want to write it off. I want to go back and fix things, I want to never have said those things, I want to never have agreed to the threesome, but I also want to be someone adventurous who can catch his eye and keep it, Gabe, I want—” 

“Woah, woah, woah. You had a— No, nevermind. Don’t want to know.” Gabe gave an exaggerated shudder. “That’s something to hash out with him. Moving on. Here’s the thing, cuz. From what I can tell, most of Dean Winchester’s appeal is from the little fact that _he doesn’t date people,_ as you’ve said yourself. And yet, you got him to think that maybe he wanted to date, and you had no clue it was coming, because—and I’m just speculating here—the man has no idea how to date someone. Because he doesn’t date anyone. Predictably, the whole thing blows up, and suddenly you see him with a beautiful woman and they appear to be doing typical date things together: sharing a classy bottle of wine, probably a home-cooked candlelight dinner, I’m guessing followed by good ol’ missionary style bangin’… See where I’m going with this?”

Castiel stared at his cousin (difficult, because there were one and a half of Gabe at the moment), then shook his head. “No. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Ugh, Cassie. You’re hopeless.” Gabe ticked points off on his fingers. “One: he doesn’t date. Two: you break his heart when he tries to date you. Three: he’s inexplicably happy and looks like he’s on a date when you happen to run into each other. Conclusion: _he’s trying to get to you._ I’ll bet my car at first he was trying to get over you. But then we ran into him, and you pissed him off, so he decided to make you jealous, you idiotic lump. And it totally worked, too. You’ve been—” Gabe flapped his hand at Cas and made a sour face “—even more than your usual—” Gabe flapped his hand again, with more vigor; “—since the liquor store.”

Cas let Gabe’s words percolate, but after a few seconds he still didn’t see how that situation would help him any. He sighed. “Even if that’s true—which it probably isn’t—what am I supposed to do about it? Beg him to take me back? Try to break them up? I have _some_ pride.”

Gabe snorted. “If I’m right that he has no clue what he’s doing, and that he’s still hung up on you, you won’t have to break anyone up. The relationship will end on its own. The other thing… well, if you want him, you might have to swallow your pride and apologize.”

Castiel waited for the punchline. Gabe simply stared back with a challenge in his eyes.

“Okay, fine, let’s say that they do break up. I’m still not going to swoop in like a vulture, Gabe! What would I even _say_ to him? ‘Hey, Dean, remember me? I’m the, the… _assbutt_ who rejected you in a public screaming match even though I’m in love with you.’ He’d laugh me right out the door.”

Gabe made a strangled noise and splayed his hands out in a vague hands-around-the-neck kind of way but then made a visible effort to relax and instead pushed his hair back from his forehead. 

“You… I can’t… oh my _God_. Cas, buddy, no one’s telling you to _swoop in like a vulture_. Do vulture’s even swoop? I thought they circled. In any case! All I’m trying to say is your damn pride got you into this mess, and if you want a happy ending—and yes I do mean that in both commonly accepted meanings—you’re going to have to drop the walls, be vulnerable, and take a chance on him.” 

Cas thought about that for a minute. Take a chance on Dean? Earlier today he would have claimed to already have done that. Earlier today he hadn’t had a fight with Meg, realized he’d got his whole childhood wrong, known how much it would hurt to see Dean with someone else, or bared his soul to his cousin. _Earlier today_ seemed a lifetime away. “That is surprisingly good advice, coming from you.”

“Hey, I might be a dick, cuz, but I’m not a complete asshole.”

Something about _dicks_ and _assholes_ was too funny and Cas burst into a giggling fit.

Gabe sighed. “Holy crap, you’re smashed, aren’t you? Well, time to get you home, you lightweight.”

Castiel supposed he _was_ a little bit tipsy. He had the vague sensation of being propped up, his arm draped across a shoulder, and his feet shuffling through dewy grass at a mismatched pace. But then he was looking up at something gray and fuzzy, and he was also lying down, and the suddenly the world was moving around him.

He moaned as a lurch caused a very unpleasant shift in his head—and his stomach.

“Don’t worry, buddy, we’re almost home,” Gabe’s amused voice floated over to Cas across an unfathomable abyss, distant and tinny. “Just don’t puke on my back seat. That’s where I take the _ladies_.”

Castiel’s head was spinning too much to reply, so he gripped the seat below him and held on tight.

 

Gabriel held a glass out to him, and Cas took it gingerly. Water slopped along the edge because he still wasn’t altogether steady, but he managed to swallow most of it. 

“Do I need to bring over a bowl?” Gabe asked once Cas handed back the glass. 

“No,” Cas croaked. “The room’s stopped spinning. I’m not going to throw up, Gabe. I simply consumed that vile drink too quickly.”

“Hmm. If you say so. It’s your bed, though, buddy.”

“I’m _fine_.” It wasn’t entirely true. The warm fuzzies the liquor had given had worn off long ago, and all the bad feelings about Dean and his date had come back in force, only compounding the misery he currently felt. However, it _was_ true that he didn’t feel like vomiting, so there was that.

Gabe stood. “Well, in the future, wine coolers only.”

“In the future? I’m never drinking again.”

“Hah. Famous last words.” Gabe was at the door, one hand on the doorknob, but he hesitated. “Sure you’re alright? You seemed pretty upset earlier, and I don’t—I don’t know how to do this caring and sharing crap, but I don’t want to leave you in a bad place.”

“I’m fine, Gabe. We can talk tomorrow if you still think it’s necessary.”

“‘Kay. G’gnight, Cassie.” Gabe made a kissy face, and Cas half-heartedly tossed one of his pillows in Gabe’s direction. It sailed laughably wide, and Gabe escaped unhindered. 

Cas was finally alone, but he suddenly felt lonely. His emotional turmoil still hovered at the edges of his consciousness, too. Annoying Gabe may be, but he’d been an _excellent_ distraction, and almost good company for once in their lives. He’d softened the edge of whatever maelstrom Cas had been going through earlier, and Cas owed him for that. Besides heartbroken, he’d been frustrated, disillusioned… He’d certainly felt foolish, too, about how much he’d misunderstood his parents’ relationship. 

And then they had to run into Dean, and that just threw everything more out of balance. 

Maybe it wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe someday he’d look back on this and find it funny, or pathetic, or embarrassing. Right now everything was still too raw; he still felt flayed wide open, every nerve exposed.

Cas rolled over. He punched a divot into his pillow and sighed loudly. Outside his window the breeze rustled through newly lush branches. The soft susurrus helped ease his mind a little, even though the days events and the previous blowup weeks ago still weighed heavily. His head swam. 

Was he too prideful? Did Gabe actually have a point?

Was it pride to try and protect yourself from inevitable heartbreak? Is that why he reacted the way he had when Charlie had confronted him about the possibility of dating Dean? He thought back, but his memory proved hazy at the moment. What he knew for certain was it had been too good to be true on one hand, and even if it _had_ been true, Cas simply didn’t believe it could work with someone whose goals were so different from his own. 

So why was he still torturing himself over it? He’d reacted the way he had, Dean had reacted the way _he_ had, and it was over. End of story.

_End of story_ … 

Cas shot upright and yanked open the drawer to his nightstand. His fingers scrabbled at the notebook in the drawer, but he eventually managed to wrangle it out. He flipped through to the end, the big reveal that he’d written and rewritten several times in the weeks since his big confrontation with Dean at school. The tone and the direction of the entire work had changed direction thanks to Dean; his crush had ended up affecting more than just the sex scenes, though he hadn’t fully realized to what extent until today. Cas found the part he’d been looking for and started reading. 

 

Castiel woke in the morning feeling like he’d been chewing on a dirty wool sock. He squinted against the sunlight streaming in through the open window—birds can go to hell, thank you very much—then felt around for the cup he hoped still had water. Instead, his hand connected with his cell phone, a cool-to-the-touch brick resting on top of the notebook on the nightstand. 

He frowned. He didn’t take the cell phone with him to the liquor store yesterday; it should still have been in his desk drawer. 

He swung himself upright and pressed the menu button. He scrolled through until he reached the most recently dialed number, and then sucked in a sharp breath. It was _Dean’s_ number. Dean’s _home_ number, where he lived with his _parents_. Cas frantically searched through his memory, but couldn’t recall anything: not dialing the number, not even whether he reached someone or left a message. He remembered having a revelation about the story, how Dean had changed it—changed _Cas_ —but nothing beyond that.

Cas picked up the notebook and noticed immediately that he’d altered the ending; his handwriting was sloppy and wild thanks to the alcohol, but was still more or less legible. As he puzzled out the changes his stomach churned. It was better; it made more sense now, but what if he had actually done these things— Cas lurched out of bed and dragged himself toward Gabriel’s room.

It took over a minute of pounding on Gabe’s door, but finally his cousin answered. His hair was sticking up all over the place, his eyes bleary and half-shut, and his sleep shirt was on backwards and inside out. 

“Why the hell are you awake? Actually, why the hell are you alive?” Gabe said.

“Don’t have time for that.” Cas shoved the phone at Gabe’s face. Gabe took a step back and swiped the offending device from Cas’s hand. He squinted at the screen until it registered with him. 

“You called Dean last night. Really? _Really_? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” Cas moaned. He took the phone back from Gabe and stared down at the screen, willing it to tell him it hadn’t really happened. “These things are evil. They should all be destroyed.”

“Orrrrr, they’re the best thing that’s ever happened for comedy that depends on unlikely and embarrassing misunderstandings.”

“Gabe… this isn’t fiction! This is real! I don’t remember calling him. I need to find out what I said, but I can’t… Please, I need your help.” Cas held the phone out. It took far too long, but Gabe sighed and took it. The look he gave Cas while the line on the other end rang was withering, but when someone picked up, his attention shifted.

Cas squirmed. 

“Yeah, uh, is Dean available?... I’m his friend, Cas… Ok, fine, I’m not Cas. I’m Cas’s friend, calling on behalf of—… Oh, well, aren’t you just a charmer. Who the hell is this, any—… Look, all right, Cas is real sorry for that, now can I please speak to De—... Yes, I will let him know… Uh-huh… Uh-huh… Isn’t your vocabulary impressive. What are you, fifteen?... Ooh, sixteen?... Yeah, okay, squirt… Yup… Yup… You too.” 

Gabe punched the ‘end call’ button with far more force than necessary, then chucked the phone over his shoulder. Cas’s heart leapt into his throat, but the phone bounced off Gabe’s bed and down to the floor without breaking.

“Why were you so rude?” Cas screeched at his cousin. Gabe winced.

“Is that how you treat people who’re doing you a favor? Jeez. I am so unappreciated around here. Besides, that punk kid who answered was rude first. Man, he was pissed at _you_. And me, by association, of course.”

“Well, gee, maybe he had to deal with some drunk underage college student who’s in love with his brother! Of course he was upset! You didn’t need to be upset in return!”

Gabe waved his concern away with a hand flop. “Eh, you’re fine. It’s all fine.”

Cas pulled at his hair until his scalp stung. “You don’t know that!”

“Cassie, buddy. Dean wasn’t home last night. Little bro answered your call, said you just sobbed about how badly you’d messed up the ending without Dean and that you had to have a chance to make it right with him. Apparently you gave Sam far too many details about your sexcapades with his big bro. I have a feeling he won’t forgive you for that. He hung up before you managed to destroy your reputation much more than that. So, it’s _fine_. You didn’t piss off his parents or anything.”

“I told a high school kid about the things I did with his brother and essentially begged for Dean to give me another chance? Could it _get_ much worse than that?” Something curdled in Cas’s stomach as another thought occurred to him. “But if Dean wasn’t there… He was probably with _her_.”

Gabe made a moue, lips pursed exaggeratedly. “Maybe. But you already knew that was a possibility. Anyway, apparently Dean bitches about you all the time. Sammy says that you both need to grow a pair and talk to each other, straighten this all out.”

“That sounds suspiciously like something you would say.”

“Well, we happen to agree. Now, can I go back to sleep, please?”

Cas squeezed his eyes shut. If Meg and Gabe and even Dean’s brother seemed to think they should talk… His heart pounded in his chest and he almost felt dizzy with possibility. Despite all his efforts to protect himself, the thought _maybe it’s not too late, maybe it’s not too late_ ran through his mind on repeat. He didn’t want to read too much into what Gabe and Sam thought was going on with Dean, because only Dean could know that, but… _Maybe it’s not too late_. He had to at least try, pride be damned.

“Gabe, I need to borrow your car. It’s an emergency.”

“Why, not going to drive it off a cliff, are you?”

“No, I need to find Dean and apologize. I need to make things right, redeem myself to him. Even if he doesn’t want me anymore I can’t let a stupid misunderstanding be the last words between us. ”

“Uh, okay. Do you even know where he is?”

“No, but I’ll start with his brother. Now either give me your keys or drive me!”

“Oh, screw sleep. I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Give me ten minutes, I’ll meet you downstairs.” Gabe’s eyes swept over Cas and he made a face. “You, uh, you might want to take your personal hygiene into consideration, though, champ, if you’re trying to win back the love of your life. You’re a little bit ripe, and you’ve kind of got a thing going on with your hair—”

“Fine, just hurry up and get dressed!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may just be a terrible person ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	10. Chapter 10

Cas jiggled his leg and drummed his fingers on the armrest as they sat at a light. Gabe had insisted on driving because Cas was “emotionally compromised,” which was all well and good except Gabe drove at what felt like a snail’s pace. Some classic country-western music played on the radio, and a woman with a sweet voice crooned about lost loves and second chances. Cas had the notion that Gabe had deliberately chosen this station, and he itched to switch it off. The only thing holding him back was the barely perceptible sense of gratitude that he didn’t have to do this on his own. When— _if—_ it all fell to pieces, at least Gabe would be there to get him home in one piece. Gabe would witness his humiliation, of course, but by this point Gabe had already seen enough to last him a lifetime. What difference would another instance in this farce make?

The car swung around a corner and squealed to a stop. The engine groaned as it idled, so Gabe threw the car into park and shut it off.

“Well, according to the phone book, this is the place,” Gabe said.

They stared up at the house, a typical-looking two-story ranch with a twisted, half-bare tree in the corner of the yard. The garage behind it was open and empty. A healthier tree stood at the opposite corner of the house, and beneath it was a little shade garden that was a little overrun. Someone had been working in it; a pile of weeds lay in the grass next to a bucket, a trowel, and a pair of gloves. There was no one in sight, and the house was still and quiet.

“You gonna go up?” Gabe prodded at Cas with his elbow. 

Before Cas could decide whether to do that or tell Gabe to drive away, there was a movement behind the glass of the front door. Then it opened, and a tall, skinny teen in gym shorts and a t-shirt and floppy hair stepped out onto the stoop. He glowered at them and crossed his arms over his chest. That must be Sam, because the expression looked eerily similar to one of Dean’s.

“I think that’s your cue to do _something_.” Gabe tossed a wave up toward the kid, who didn’t respond. “Or we could just sit here in an old car outside a high school kid’s house like skeevy creepers. Up to you, really.”

“Fine, I’m going.” Cas unbuckled himself and shoved the passenger door open. He took a deep breath and marched toward the house. The kid’s expression didn’t change as Cas got closer, in fact, it seemed to deepen. Sam was also already as tall as him, and Cas faltered and stopped still several feet away. Something about the situation—the way Sam’s jaw worked, or his stance—gave him the sense he might be punched at any moment. 

“Um, hello,” Cas said.

“You Castiel? You called last night,” Sam said. He tried to sound threatening, but his voice wasn’t terribly deep yet. 

Cas knew better than to let that fool him. He swallowed and nodded his head. “Please, call me Cas. I was hoping to speak to Dean and apologize to him.”

“Well, he’s not here.”

“I—Yes, I’m aware. My cousin called earlier, I believe you two spoke—”

“And why would Dean want to talk to you?”

Cas simply stared at the kid, speechless for a good few moments, because he had a very good point. If there was only one misunderstanding to clear up… but he’d behaved badly to Dean on more than one occasion. That made a pattern, and he couldn’t find fault in Dean wanting to distance himself from that. He took a deep breath.

“I don’t know that he does. But I’d like to at least try. I owe him that much. And if he never wants to hear from me again—” the words caught in his throat and came out with a catch “—then I will respect that.” 

Sam pursed his lips and finally gave a short nod. “Fine. I’ll help you this once. He’s at our uncle’s garage today.”

“Oh, of course. He’s spoken about it. ‘Singer’s’, was it?”

“Yeah, over on Rock.” The hard lines on Sam’s face softened the tiniest bit. “Look, Cas? I have to tell you… he’s going on a weekend camping trip up north tomorrow with a girl. You might be wasting your time.”

Cas smiled. He meant it to be reassuring, but he felt the action tug grossly at the corner of his mouth and was afraid it was more of a grimace. “I know. We, uh, we—my cousin and I—ran into them last night. I’m afraid that is the reason I called. I was—I _am_ rather jealous, apparently. I know I have no reason to be, but… ”

“No, I get it,” Sam said. “Love makes you stupid.”

A bubble of laughter welled up in Cas’s chest. For a sixteen-year-old, Sam was very insightful. But then Cas recalled things Dean had said about his parents and their too-passionate union, and the laughter died. He had no doubt that Sam was mature for his age, but he’d certainly been influenced by his parents’ relationship, like Dean had been, though it may have manifested differently. Cas himself had constructed his own ideas of love because of the way his parents interacted… And how had that all affected Gabe, too?

“You know, you’re not the first person to stop by today looking for Dean,” Sam said in a very casual tone.

Cas’s attention snapped back to the present. “What do you mean?” Was it another someone Dean had been seeing? It would be hard enough for Cas to compete with the woman he met last night; if he had to go up against someone else, someone he had never seen as well as knew nothing about— 

“Some girl, I guess a friend of your guys’ from school. Didn’t get her name. She seemed less…” Sam paused to sweep his glance over Cas, who, at the moment, had his hands twisted together in agony and probably had desperation written clearly on his face. “Well, less, uh, urgent.”

“I see,” Cas said. He did not see. There was too much happening right now. And Sam had been very helpful, more than Cas deserved, but the longer he stayed here to talk to him, the more confused he’d probably become. There was only one way to resolve the situation, and that was through speaking with Dean himself. “Thank you, Sam. I think I’d better get going now. It was nice meeting you. Hopefully…”

_Hopefully we’ll meet again, if everything works out with Dean_ , he’d almost said. It seemed like too much to plan on, though, and he’d let the words die in his throat.

Sam’s lips twisted up into a one-sided smile and he shrugged. “Sure thing. Just don’t call like that again, okay? You’re pretty lucky my parents are out of town. Dad would’ve ripped you a new one, and Mom… you don’t want to know what she’s capable of.”

“Duly noted,” Cas said. He gave a quick, awkward wave and turned back to the car. The door creaked loudly when he opened it, as it always did, and he ducked his head as he slid into the seat. 

“Well?” Gabriel asked as Cas clicked his seatbelt. “Are we going home in defeat, or what?”

Cas smiled at his cousin. “‘Or what.’ Dean is at his uncle’s garage today.” Cas gave the directions and sat back as Gabe pulled away from the curb. He couldn’t keep a silly smile from his face, and eventually he realized he was humming along to the radio as Gabe drove them the few blocks to the garage. He didn’t know where this feeling of hope had come from, and whether it was altogether warranted, but he couldn’t quite quash it. He didn’t want to, either. It would be better to face Dean with optimism, he thought. Strength, rather than despair. 

The facade of a run-down looking repair shop came into view. The sign that read ‘Singer’s’ over the building was rusty and a little bit crooked. Hope twisted with anxiety, doubt… Everything could fall apart in the next few minutes. Or it might not. He had no idea what to expect. But this time when Gabe stopped the car, Cas got out without hesitation. He’d been putting this off and waffling over it long enough. It was time to simply take action.

He walked up to the door, pushed it open, and entered. 

A grumpy-looking older man looked up from a stack of papers on the counter. His gaze swept past Cas and out the large window, then came back to him. Cas’s precarious hold on optimism withered and died with that one, unimpressed look.

“Got an appointment?” the man said in a gruff voice. “Whatever’s wrong with that hunk of junk you came in will probably take at least a day.”

“Oh, no. We’re—I’m not here for that. I’m—I’d like to speak to Dean, if I may. His brother said I could find him here today.”

“What’d that idjit do now,” the man said. He tossed the stack of papers down and adjusted his ballcap, and Cas immediately knew this was Dean’s uncle Bobby. “Why the hell’s he so popular today, anyhow?”

“He didn’t do anything,” Cas said and immediately wished he hadn’t, because he sounded like he was trying to ingratiate himself. “Or, rather, it’s not entirely his fault.”

Bobby grunted. “He’s out back in the scrapyard. You can go through there, just walk all the way back through the bay and out the back door. Can’t miss him.”

“Thank you.”

Bobby dismissed him with a wave, and Cas left the office. He wandered through the bay, which had a car up on the rack with a mechanic tinkering beneath it. He walked quickly and quietly, not wanting to distract the person. He felt a little out of place, too. He’d never had a car, and never had a reason to be in a repair shop. The space was loud and crowded with tools and parts and the smell of metal and grease and rubber was fairly overwhelming. Cas was happy to escape outside through the back door. He exited into a yard with scraggly, browning grass and hard-packed dirt. A gravel drive snaked around the corner of the building, pitted with bumps and holes. Stacks of rusted, broken vehicles spread out from the yard.

And there was Dean.

Cas hadn’t known what to expect, but he’d certainly thought he’d find Dean alone, perhaps elbow-deep in the belly of a car, not talking to a dark-haired woman with a scowl on his face and his hands on his hips, staring at his feet.

It was not the woman from last night, however. It was someone Cas knew quite well.

“Meg?” Cas called out. She whirled to face him, and Dean looked up. The surprise on Dean’s face quickly gave way to wariness, and Cas regretted that Dean ever needed to learn that look in response to him. For a brief second, though, Cas thought he’d seen longing in Dean’s expression, and his heart thumped in his chest pitifully as hope and doubt and confusion flooded his senses. 

Meg, however, looked utterly flummoxed at the sight of him. Flummoxed and… guilty? What on earth was she up to? She turned back to Dean and said something Cas couldn’t catch, then walked over to where Cas had frozen to the spot right outside the back door of the building.

“Clarence,” she said in greeting, and immediately Cas caught the seriousness of her tone.

“What is it? What’s happened?” He’d never seen her like this before; this was the kind of look someone got when they had to deliver bad news, wasn’t it?

“You’re here for Dean, aren’t you?”

“I—” Cas broke off, blinked. “What? I mean, yes, of course I’m here for Dean. Why are you here?”

Meg’s eyes flicked off to the side and when she looked at him again she seemed resigned.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I thought, maybe, after our talk yesterday that you were done with Dean. And I wanted—”

She didn’t continue, but looked off to the side again. After a moment she shrugged. Whatever was bothering Meg, she didn’t want to seem to want to talk about it directly. Maybe she would open up about it eventually, but in the meantime, he had quite a lot to say to her, as well.

“After we spoke I thought a lot about what you said,” Cas said. “I talked to my mom and I realized things weren’t really how I thought they were. Between them, I mean. I’d always thought Rachel believed in grand gestures, in demonstrations of love and that Naomi was a disappointment in that regard, but… I was wrong. They’re actually happy together and committed to each other. And if they’re satisfied with that arrangement, it stands to reason other people could be satisfied with other types of love.”

“How big of you,” Meg snorted. “And so you’re fine going without the dozen roses, holding hands on a sunset stroll along the beach, then?”

“I never wanted _that_ , precisely,” Cas said before he realized she was needling him because he’d managed to sound like an ass, _again_. “What I mean is, I grew up thinking their love wasn’t real just because I never knew where I stood with them, and because I thought Rachel wanted something else… And so I always thought I needed, well, devotion and passion to know that I’m loved, to feel that I matter. But I have come to realize that perhaps I don’t need it to the extent I thought I did. Perhaps, with the right person, that won’t matter as much.” _Even though he probably doesn’t want me, I just want Dean_ , he added silently.

“Or maybe some people express those emotions in different ways than what you expect.” Meg looked at Dean as she said that, but again, Cas got the feeling that her words had a deeper meaning that he wasn’t picking up on.

“You’re undoubtedly correct,” Cas replied.

“Well, I guess that’s that, then,” Meg said with an exaggerated sigh. She patted Cas on the back and her hand lingered for a moment before she turned fully towards Dean, still standing with his arms crossed a good twenty feet away from them. When Dean’s glower got even deeper she pulled her hand away and gave him a sarcastic salute while she backed toward the door to the garage. “Well, I’m outie. Good talk, Dean-o. Catch you at the store sometime, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Meg,” he replied, a little bemused. Before he could wonder too much, Dean uncrossed his arms and walked up to him.

“Hi,” Dean said. His tone was mild, but he had the same scowl etched onto his face.

“Hello,” Cas said, and took his first, good long look at Dean in weeks. He’d been too mad last night (and the fluorescent lights at the liquor store had done no favors to anyone) to notice how _good_ Dean looked. He’d gotten some sun in the weeks since the semester ended, and his hair was blonder at the tips, his face tanned and brown with ample freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose. Cas ached to reach out and trace them, and his hand jumped at his side with aborted movement. He caught himself swaying toward Dean and forced himself to still. He’d probably never be free of Dean’s spell over him.

“What did Meg want? I didn’t know you were in contact.”

“We weren’t, not really,” Dean said. “She wanted to talk about you. It was kinda weird, for a minute I thought she— Well, nevermind. Turns out she thought we had some shit to discuss. Do we? You come to apologize for being a dick?” 

Dean’s eyes were probably narrowed against the sun, but it could just as easily be anger or irritation at the intrusion into his day.

“Yes,” Cas said. “I owe you several apologies, if you care to hear me out. I said some unforgivable things, and I’ll understand if you never want to speak to me again, but at the very least I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us. I don’t think an apology can adequately convey how sorry I am, and please believe I’m not trying to come between you and that wom—”

“What, Lisa? Oh for fuck’s sake, come off it.”

“What?”

“This!” Dean waved a hand toward Cas. “Your martyr act, like you’re bravely going to your own execution.”

_I am,_ Cas thought, but kept his mouth shut.

“It’s complete bullshit, you know, this stiff upper-lip act you’re pulling,” Dean continued. “You think I’m with someone else and you don’t want to step on any toes… If you care about someone, _show_ it, for once. You’re so emotionally detached sometimes it’s hard to believe you’re human at all. Why d’you think I had Charlie feel out the situation? Why do you think I acted like an ass last night and tried to make you jealous with my _friend_? Because I can’t read you for shit! I had no idea if you were even interested in me at all—”

“I have emotions,” Cas broke in. Anger flared to life. All the things he’d tried to hard to hide from Dean… “I have a lot of emotions! If it seems like I’m too _detached_ it’s because I thought my emotions would scare you off! Everyone, _everyone_ knows you don’t date—and even if I hadn’t known that, you said it yourself way back in the beginning, remember? Why would it ever occur to me that you’d suddenly and inexplicably want to date me, Dean? How could I have possibly seen that coming?”

“Yeah, I _know_ , which is why I tried to have Charlie talk to you.”

Cas took a deep breath and shook his head. They’d just keep going around in circles blaming each other if he didn’t let it go. “What’s done is done. It happened. I’m very sorry that it happened the way it did—the things I said to you, Dean…”

“It’s not the things you said—okay, well, it is, a little bit—but it’s more the things you _thought_. I mean, you thought I wasn’t good enough for you. How’m I ‘sposed to move past that?”

“That’s not it at all. I thought _I_ wasn’t enough for _you_ , you ass! Even after we’d been hooking up for weeks you still had some girl’s underwear in your drawer! I know you said no exclusivity, and I know you meant it. I don’t understand why you are so upset that I was simply taking you at your word.”

“Uh, you weren’t taking me at my word, you were jumping to conclusions.” 

“Conclusions that you were happy to foster.”

“Dude, you coulda asked about the panties at _any_ time. They’re mine, okay? I—I like to wear ‘em sometimes.” Dean was red-faced by this point, but Cas would be hard-pressed to say whether it was embarrassment or anger. However, Cas’s own ire started to drain away as his brain got stuck in a loop picturing Dean wearing the black panties Cas had found in his drawer. “—and Lisa is a friend from high school. I mean—we had a thing, once, and I thought about trying again with her to get over you, but I only did what I did last night because you pissed me off.” 

And _that_ got his attention; he was a little surprised that Gabriel had been correct, but Sam had seemed pretty certain that Dean was _with_ Lisa.

“But what about the camping trip? Sam said—”

“Sam doesn’t know jack about it. It’s just a bunch of high school people. And I was thinking of staying home, anyway. Not really feelin’ it anymore.” 

“Oh,” Cas said. It was so inadequate, but his brain had been momentarily knocked off-kilter, so he repeated himself with another “Oh,” and cast about for another argument to prove that he was the wronged party. “Hah! But what about your LARP event?”

“What about it?”

“You didn’t want to invite me.”

“Dude, first, we don’t have to do everything together, it’s fucking obnoxious. Second, you gave no indication whatsoever that you’d be interested in that stuff. I mean, c’mon. It’s super fucking nerdy, and you—look, you’re not _not_ nerdy, but you’re not ‘walk around in chainmail nerdy’, either.”

Cas had to admit Dean was correct that he’d never had an interest in such a thing before, but he simply shrugged, not wanting to verbally admit such. “I could be. I’m certainly curious about it. But the real issue as I see it, Dean, is that not only did I not have the chance to express interest, but that you kept so much of yourself hidden from me. Even knowing that we weren’t going to be together in any real, lasting sense wasn’t enough to counteract how awful it felt to realize you didn’t want me to know such personal things about you.”

Dean looked down at the ground and scuffed his boot in the gravel. A small cloud of dust kicked up in its wake.

“It was too much,” Dean finally said after a too-long pause. “I liked you, and I didn’t know what to do about it. I liked you more than I’d liked anyone in a long time. Maybe, you know, ever. Opening up about that shit—it was too tempting. I’d started thinking maybe things would—maybe _I’d_ be different with you. You gotta understand, I’d never wanted to be with anyone, Cas. Never wanted to be around someone as much as I was with you, and it really threw me. I could kinda see things going somewhere with you, but, man… Look, I know myself pretty well. Or I thought I did. And I was certain it would fade, and I’d have dragged you into my bullshit and got you hurt. And I didn’t want to do that to you, so I tried to keep myself—I tried to keep _us_ safe from that. I didn’t want to disappoint you. Or myself. I didn’t know if was too late for me until later.”

“It was always too late for me,” Cas muttered. Or, he thought he muttered, but the words came out loud and clear and Dean gave him a sharp look. “I have one last thing to confess, Dean, and it’s probably going to sound a bit creepy.”

Dean raised his brows.

“The story I wrote—it wasn’t just you serving as a model for the love interest.” Cas cleared his throat. This was the hard part. “It was us. It was how I wanted—how I imagined things could be with us. It didn’t start out that way. I didn’t know you at all back then, but as I got to know you I started to write that character _as_ you. The more involved I got, the more romantic the story became, but then you’d come along and edit out the romance... Please don’t look at me like that. I knew how hopeless it was, and that’s why I indulged myself. You’d edit out the romance—what I thought was romantic and sweet—but you replaced it with some of the hottest scenes imaginable. You made the story better, but it was at the expense of love, so I thought. So I added some of it back in—just a little, here and there, and it was based on the things I experienced with you. Your friendliness, your playfulness… the way you just adopt people into your life like they’ve always belonged... 

“But here’s the incredible thing, Dean. I finished the story on my own and gave it a romantic ending where the characters ended up together and in love, but I realized something. My views had changed, in part because of your input, and instead of the ending I’d planned since the beginning—the one where the love interest comes around to the main character’s viewpoint—they meet somewhere in the middle. They were able to come an understanding that didn’t require either party to give up too much of themselves, their hopes and dreams.”

Dean had been staring at him with a strange expression while Cas had fumbled about trying to explain himself, but now one corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk. “Dude, were you romancing me through your story?”

“I—” Had he? He thought he’d just been trying to get his crush out of his system. But he had allowed—he’d frequently _asked_ Dean to read it, knowing that Dean may have been aware that he was the inspiration for the main character’s love interest. “Maybe? It wasn’t a conscious decision on my part, but now that you bring it up, it’s a bit naive of me to think you wouldn’t draw parallels between the characters and ourselves.”

Dean made a choked noise that could have been laughter. “Dude, that is both the sappiest and most awesome thing I’ve ever heard.” 

“Thank you?” Cas blinked. Dean was suddenly standing much closer than he had been before.

“Look,” Dean started to say, but he didn’t continue. They were so close now that Cas could see the flecks of gold smattered amongst the green in Dean’s irises. His eyelashes were so, so, long, stark black against the warmth of Dean’s coloring, and they fluttered as Dean blinked, his eyes wide and entrancing. Cas couldn’t look away from Dean, and the longer he stared directly at him, the larger Dean’s pupils got. Eventually Dean placed a hand on Cas’s cheek and the contact was so unexpected, so newly unfamiliar, that it almost stung. Cas leaned into the touch. A shiver raced down his spine. He’d missed this more than he cared to admit even to himself. From the first moment he’d touched Dean he’d been lost, no matter how much he’d tried to hold himself back from falling over the edge. 

“Cas…” Dean said. His voice was nearly a whisper, cracked with emotion. “What’re we going to do? I—I like you a lot, I might even be a little bit in love with you, but I can’t—I can’t promise things will be easy with me. I can’t promise anything. I thought you wanted, you know, typical romance stuff and I don’t—I’m not that person. I don’t think I ever will be. I’m way too used to being on my own and I have no idea how to do _any_ of this. I don’t know how to be enough for you without being someone else...” 

“I know.” Cas leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Dean’s. They were too close to look at each other without crossed eyes, so Cas simply rested his head against Dean’s and tried to take comfort from the contact. “But I don’t want anyone else. You _are_ enough, just as you are.”

“Sap,” Dean said.

“Don’t interrupt, this is a very important speech. When I think back to what made me unhappy, it wasn’t what we did or had… it was the uncertainty of not knowing how you felt about me. It was knowing that I wouldn’t get to have that with you anymore after the story was finished. It was feeling like I wasn’t good enough for you. And now that I know… I’m okay with hanging out in the library, with playing video games, and eating terrible food together at Commons. I don’t mind that you have close friends, and that you want to spend time with them and that means sometimes you won’t spend time with me. What we have doesn’t follow any sort of script that I know, but I realize now that I don’t know all the scripts. It might be hard for me, sometimes, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. And I _want_ to try.”

“Me too.”

Cas swallowed and hoped he wasn’t about to ruin everything again. “But Dean, I definitely don’t want to share you anymore. The… thing with Meg. I’m not upset by it any longer, and I’ve come to realize that it had nothing to do with how you felt about me or how I felt about you, and—well, obviously I enjoyed it at the time, but it’s just not for me.”

Dean gave a watery-sounding chuckle and the vibration of his next words echoed throughout Cas’s bones. “I’m okay with that too. If I gotta be honest, and you gotta swear not to tell Meg because she might flay me alive, you were all I was thinking of that night. But, uh, you know I can’t help how charming I am, right?”

Cas frowned. “I suppose it is too much to ask that you never smile at other people. Your smile is what did me in, you know. It’s an irresistible siren song.”

“Hmm. Think I just figured out how to wrap you around my finger.” Dean tipped his head back just far enough that Cas could see his wide grin. “Now that you’re powerless to resist, wanna go see Phantom Menace with me? I think it’s still in theaters.”

“You are such a nerd,” Cas returned. He shifted a little and fitted his lips to Dean’s. If Cas had any doubt that things were leading up to this, Dean’s response put those fears to rest as his mouth parted and his tongue slid out to meet Cas’s. Dean let his fingers trail along Cas’s jaw as they kissed while his other arm wrapped around Cas’s waist. It was a gentle kiss, a sort of ‘coming home,’ but still, a violent shudder wracked Cas as emotion welled up, as if he’d never quite allowed himself to believe this ending was possible. 

“Hey, woah,” Dean said as he broke away from the kiss. “You okay?”

“Sorry,” Cas replied. “Yes, I was just a little overcome—” He paused and shrugged. The movement forced Dean to move slightly, and Cas wished he’d stayed still until Dean settled his arm more firmly around him. This was the most intimately they’d touched outside of sex and snuggling afterward. Knowing what he did now, Cas couldn’t help but regret not confessing his feelings sooner. He could have had this all along, perhaps. Still—somehow, miraculously, things seemed to have worked out despite all their bumbling along and misunderstandings. 

“I take it back,” Dean said after a moment where they just stood together. 

“What’s that?”

“That kind of kiss wasn’t terrible at all. But I was right about one thing.”

“Oh?” Where was Dean going with this?

“It definitely belongs at the end.”

“Good lord. Now who’s the sap?”

Dean rubbed against Cas’s cheek like a cat, and the scrape of their stubble felt delicious. “I learned from the best.”

That surprised a laugh from Cas. He took a step back and looked fondly at Dean. “Gabriel is probably working himself up to a fever pitch of concern by now. I suppose we should put him out of his misery and give him the good news.”

Dean leaned back in and gave Cas another kiss. “Count me in.”

 

_The end_

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, you made it! Thanks for reading! If you liked it, please comment/kudo :)
> 
> (Since I had so many problems crafting this story I wanna be upfront: I am not looking for critique. Please do not leave critique. However, if you think I left out an important tag, please do let me know about that. That, I can change. Thank you!)


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